waking with you
by Jessie Marsh
Summary: As the team continue working without Jack, they are called to re-investigate a case that the man convicted of committing now alleges his innocence. Meanwhile the boys babysit for Strickland's 'niece'.
1. o

"Yesss!" Brian Lane looked up excitedly from his laptop, his fist clenched in success. His excitement was not shared by his colleagues as they each awoke to his triumphant proclamation.

"What?" Sandra Pullman blinked several times in quick succession as a dozen files slipped from her lap. She lifted her hand and pushed against the hair that had fallen over her forehead. She sighed as consciousness fought for dominance over staying asleep. Her eyes fell to the papers that were scattered at her feet. Urgh, she did not want to have to pick them up. Wait, why were they there? Why was she asleep in the chair anyway? Why were the chairs so damned uncomfortable? She turned her head, stretching her neck. The chairs clearly couldn't be that uncomfortable, her boss, Robert Strickland was still sprawled in his, eyes closed, gently snoring in complete ignorance of Brian's wake-up call. Which is why she was awake now. Forcing the continuation of her waking state, she gently touched her boss' arm and said quite firmly, "Sir?" looking around further, their other colleague was still slumped in slumber over his desk. "Gerry! Brian, what have you found?"

"Geruph?" murmured Gerry Standing as he lifted his head from his desk. "Whsasph chipper fund?" He stared vacantly at the items on the desktop wondering at each of them in bewildered turn. His eyes settled on the deserted coffee mug half-filled with a beverage that may have once been warm but was now covered in a thin film of ice. He shook his head, ice? More like the milk had turned in the time it had been made and left. Why had it been made? They had been late last night, looking over files in the case. When had he fallen asleep? Why had he woken up? Brian. Brian had woken him up. Brian had found something. Brian was talking, moving, excited. Stupid bugger. Pushing against the desk he forced himself to stand and move to where Brian and Sandra were hastily moving papers around and scribbling notes on the boards to the other side of his workstation.

"Should we wake 'im?" Brian paused in his thought as he stepped back from the board.

"So…what?" Sandra was still struggling to maintain the get-up-and-go attitude. Truth be told, she had always struggled with the sudden switches that she had to make between waking and sleeping. Not as much as Gerry did though, she allowed herself to smile; as she watched he was mentally inserting matchsticks to prop open his eyelids. And as much as Gerry was struggling with the abrupt alarm call, as she looked to where Brian was pointing, Robert Strickland clearly had never succeeded in the waking part. It was a sweet picture, his perfect suit crumpled in sleep, stubble forming on his chin, hair no longer in its designated professional look, note book falling from his hand.

"Hurup?" he mumbled as the notebook dropped and his fingers clenched ineffectively at the air where it had been before grunting and shifting slightly.

Stifling a laugh, Gerry moved to the kettle. Brian continued to stare at their superior before Sandra gave him a pointed look which led him back to the job in hand. "So I think we should start by talking to Hallie again."

"Again?" Gerry said exasperatedly. "She's already told us to get stuffed twice!" He retrieved his abandoned mug from his desk and washed it out in the sink.

"Sir," Sandra said quietly, laying a hand on his upper arm. "Sir?"

"Mnmph?" Robert Strickland stirred. There was a hand on his arm, that was different. So was sleeping sitting up. It was a woman's voice too, that … was become less than a usual occurrence. But she called him sir? Oh shit, it was Sandra Pullman's voice. As part of his brain raced in intelligible yells, the rational voice that told him what tie to wear in the mornings and when to get a hair cut quietly and calmly asked why was he sleeping in a chair. They were in the UCOS office, working late. He must have dozed off. How embarrassing. He opened his eyes to see Sandra's piercing blue ones looking tired and amused at him. Amused. Great. He coughed. As if that would restore any dignity. "What have you found?"

He grunted as he sat up. Must have been asleep longer than he thought. Shit.

"Coffee, sir?" Gerry Standing was thinly disguising his amusement.

"We think we've found, well Brian's found a link between Hattie and the victim…"

"Thank you Gerry, yes," he rubbed his eyes. Sandra was talking. She was telling him what they had found, what Brian had found; she always made sure he knew which of her team had found the missing link. He smiled involuntarily, he'd read her record of course when UCOS had come under his remit, she hadn't always been so circumspect, a glory-hogger who had used both her talent and her wiles to get where she was in rank. That wasn't why he respected her. There were other high-ranking female officers that caught his eye. Most of which had shown the same single-mindedness in getting to where they were. He could almost be sure when they took him to bed that they were trying to use him to further themselves more. He would stretch to breakfast sometimes. But for Sandra Pullman…what he would stretch to for her…

"What do you think, sir?" oh shit.

"Er, yes, Hallie would seem to be the … yes, thank you Gerry," he took the steaming mug that the former DS handed him. "Yes," he cleared his throat. He hated the springing into life after sleeping in a chair. How long had he been asleep, anyway? "You should talk to her again."

"Maybe we'll wait for day to break first, eh?" Gerry coughed. "I'm going for a cigarette."

The coffee was good. Sandra approached him again and sat down. He didn't know how long they had been there for, but the just woke up look suited her. They could solve the case tomorrow, send off to the CPS for the culprits to be decided upon in the next week; but what mattered at that moment to Robert Strickland was that he had spent the night with Sandra Pullman and woken up to her voice.


	2. Elaine Parsons

_ok, so i've had a few fic ideas floating around my head since posting the previous part. decided the most sensible thing to do was put them all together, so, here goes... hope you enjoy!_

_Jessie xx_

_Disclaimer, BBC is big brother, just borrowing some of his toys for a while._

* * *

Waking With You

I

"Elaine Parsons," Sandra Pullman lifted the photograph from the file and held it up to the white case board, securing it in place with a small blue magnet before turning back to her audience. "Waitress at Friar's Restaurant; shot dead in the car park Friday 28th July 2000."

Her three male colleagues, Gerry Standing, Brian Lane and Steve McAndrews observed the film portrait of the young woman with dirty blonde hair tied back in a ponytail smiling down at them.

"Wasn't there another murder at that place, around the same time?" Gerry racked his brain over his morning coffee, looking to Sandra for confirmation.

"Mmm," she nodded in confirmation. "The manager, James Carson, killed two weeks before."

The team watched as she pinned another two pictures to the board, one of James Carson and a second man holding a numbered board. "That case was closed. Tommy Johnson was convicted and sent down for both murders. He's never denied her murder but Elaine's father always maintained that it was her boyfriend, Fred Carson, or Freddie, that actually killed Elaine."

"Why?" Steve asked as she pinned up the images of Freddie and Mr. Parsons.

"Hang on, Carson?" Gerry interjected, pausing the flow of new information to confirm the link between the surnames.

"Yes," Sandra handed the case file to Brian. "He was the brother of the murdered manager. Mr. Parsons told police that Elaine was cheating on Freddie with James."

"Which is why he thinks Freddie killed her, not this Johnson character?" Steve surmised.

Sandra nodded and picked up her mug from the side, relishing the bittersweet scent of the instant coffee.

"Why wasn't any connection made before?" Brian asked as he flicked through the first few pages of the file.

"Well," Sandra paused. "Tommy Johnson never denied her murder. All the evidence pointed to him and the link between Elaine and James. She was the head waitress at Friars from 1997 to 2000."

"What was the motive for the Carson killing?" asked Steve. "I mean, could it have been Freddie who ordered the hit on his brother?"

"No, Johnson was apparently hired by people that Carson was in debt to. That was all chased up and confirmed through the business partners, Bobby Harrow and Gene Richards."

"So, where's this case come from? What new evidence have we got?" Gerry sat forward and took the case file from Brian as Sandra stood up and pinned the remaining faces of Harrow and Richards on to the board.

"Johnson is up for parole, he's denying that he pulled the trigger on Elaine."

"Why?" Brian asked.

"That's what we're going to find out," she smiled grimly at the ex-inspector. "Gerry, Steve, start tracking down the other people involved. The original investigating officer was a DI Thomas, he's a DCI now."

"Parsons retired three years ago," Brian put in. "He was a DCI down at Fenchurch at the time of the investigation."

"He was a copper?" Steve asked in surprise.

"It takes all sorts," Sandra raised her eyebrow in jest. "Come on, let's make a start."

Brian set his cup on the table and moved to get his coat as Sandra did the same. Gerry sighed and collected the cups, putting them in the little sink on their kitchen unit and running the tap. Steve stretched in his chair and reached for the case file.

"Steve," Sandra said slowly as she returned from collecting her coat and went over to add her own mug to Gerry's washing up. "You're going to want to use the computer, so," she glanced at Gerry and across at Brian. "You can use that one."

The three men followed her eyes as she indicated the vacant desk nearest to her office. Gerry studied Brian's reaction carefully as Steve measured his answer. "Thanks, I'll…thanks."

"Right," Sandra hoisted her handbag over her shoulder and fiddled with her car keys. "We'll see you later."

Brian met Gerry's eye very briefly before following his boss from the UCOS office, leaving Steve and Gerry to the initial desk work.

"Brian," she said quietly as they walked to the car park. She didn't know exactly what he was feeling, but she knew it was something to do with change. After nearly ten years working with the man, she was familiar with his strange attachments and hang-ups, even if she didn't fully understand them. She wouldn't push him to talk about it if he didn't want to. But she had to make him realise that Steve was going to be around whether he wanted him to be or not.

"That was Jack's desk," he said carefully. He was sure to use the past tense. He knew more than the others that Jack Halford wasn't coming back; they had cleared his desk after he left; nothing of the man remained except the memories of him sitting behind it. He knew in the rational part of his mind that the desk would have to be adopted by someone else eventually; and although he disliked Steve, he couldn't fault the Scotsman's merits as a detective. Steve had actually fitted in remarkably well, given the circumstances. But taking Jack's desk…it was a reminder now, a constant reminder that Jack wasn't coming back, even more so than the empty desk had been. It wasn't just that he wasn't coming back; it was that he was being replaced.

Sandra started the car as she looked at him, "I miss him too, Brian, I do. But he's not coming back," she smiled sadly as her friend met her eye.

"I know," he said quietly. "It's time to move on."

She nodded, still smiling, holding back the emotion that was a mixture of bereavement and unease that she felt whenever she came close to admitting to herself that the man she had held in esteem for so many years, viewed as a mentor and would never have managed to set up UCOS without him, was no longer in her life. As much as she hated it, she had to acknowledge that it was indeed, time.


	3. The Empty Desk

_The Empty Desk_

Steve had to admit, it was easier to make the move to the desk that had been held by the other's colleague of many years without Brian in the room. He hadn't managed to get off on such a good foot with the northerner as he had with Gerry and to some extent his new boss, Sandra. He knew it wasn't entirely either of their faults; he was the new boy, taking over from an established face. On the other hand, he knew he was a good detective and he was, so far, enjoying being back in work, making a difference as only UCOS could. He missed Charlie, he missed Glasgow and he'd never admit it to Gerry but he did miss the occasional battered chocolate bar. The adventure that he and Gerry had recently embarked on, back home, made him miss these things all the more. There had been no more word on the establishing of a cold case squad on his home turf, yet he was hesitant to say that he wouldn't go for an interview if the opportunity arose. As it was, he moved only what was essential to his task over to the desk.

Gerry settled himself at his own computer, he and Steve having divvied up the research. He observed how Steve had removed only himself from the comfortable chair area in the time he had been outside. Pondering whether Steve had been telling the truth when he had said that he'd never fancied a desk job, something that Gerry could definitely relate to and believe in given the other man's attitude (sitting still was something he struggled to imagine Steve doing for very long), or whether he was going to be as permanent a fixture as Brian feared, he keyed in his password and relaxed for a morning of desk work.

~o~

"Hello Mr. Johnson," Sandra sat down opposite the prisoner who was shown in to the small interview room at the prison. "I'm Detective Superintendent Sandra Pullman, this is my colleague, Brian Lane."

Johnson nodded at both of them in turn. He was in his early thirties, white, shaved head, average height. He wore blue jeans and pale blue shirt. He looked at them both with clear blue eyes.

"We're here to talk about James Carson and Elaine Parsons," she continued openly. "We understand you have new information about their deaths."

He pulled a peculiar expression of discomfort and nodded.

"Now, when you were questioned during the original investigation, you admitted to killing Carson and never denied Elaine's," Brian narrowed his eyes. "Why now?"

"I was involved," Johnson said quietly. He did not avert his eyes as they might have expected, instead maintaining open eye-contact with both of them. "And I did shoot Jimmy."

"Ok," Sandra leant forward. "Let's start there, why?"

"I was hired," his accent was a London one, but his tone was low.

"By who?"

"Some guy, wanted me to do 'im in, 'im and 'is girlfriend, that Elaine."

"Why?"

Johnson shrugged.

"Ok, why did you agree to do it?"

Again he shrugged. "The money."

~o~

Brian noted immediately upon their return to the office that Steve had availed himself of Sandra's offer to use Jack's desk albeit only the computer. For his part, the Scot rose as they entered and greeted them with the question, "Tea?"

"Please," Sandra pulled off her coat as she walked to her office. "How have you got on?"

"Brian?" Steve started to lay out the mugs on the side.

"Aye, thanks," Brian grunted as he hung his coat and fired his laptop into life.

"We've tracked down nearly everyone involved in the original case," Gerry announced as Steve made the tea. "Except this business partner, Bobby Harrow."

"Well, that's a start," Sandra replied from within her office.

"How was Johnson?" Steve inquired of Brian as he put the kettle on to boil. Having looked over Johnson's record that morning, he had found no indication in the man's profile that he was disposed to gun crime or had ever been linked before to anything more serious than nicking a postage stamp off his mother.

Brian shrugged. "Very open, considering that he's happily been serving part of his sentence for the murder of someone he didn't kill. Admits to being hired for killing James Carson, and did it. Admits to being hired to kill Elaine, but didn't. He was at the scene of the crime, but says he didn't pull the trigger."

"So who did?" Gerry asked taking his glasses off and adjourning to the comfy chairs for their tea break.

"Someone beat him to it, apparently," Sandra rejoined them. "Strickland's on his way down." She sighed as she sank into the chair and frowned at the faces on the white board as if they might like to just divulge the truth to her now, without the trouble of a full investigation.

"Genuine?" Steve delivered the mugs and sat in what had become his customary seat at his workstation. He never had wanted a desk job.

"Mmm, I think so," she pondered the question.

"Trouble is," Brian paused. "He wouldn't say who pulled the trigger, and I think he knows."

"Yeah, well, we'll see," Sandra sipped her tea. "So, what's the problem with Bobby Farrow?"

"Well, he was a sleeping partner in the business according to the original case file, but I can't find any obvious connection that he ever had to the restaurant or the Carsons. Of course, being a sleeping partner he wouldn't necessarily be but it does make him harder to track down; he's no longer at the address in the file but didn't leave a forwarding address and it must have been some sort of cash deal because there is almost no trace of him in the sale of the house, which was registered to Gene Richards."

"The other partner?" Brian recognised.

"Yeah," Gerry confirmed. "His daughter, Hallie, now runs Friars."

Steve and Gerry presented Sandra with the list of names and addresses they had managed to source. Sandra started to annotate the list with numbers and initials, organising how they would interview each of the involved parties while Brian set about researching the restaurant, requesting full financial records to be sent to the office. Gerry returned to chasing profiles of the characters in the case while Steve remained in his preferred seat, re-reading, making notes on and familiarising himself with the original case papers. When DAC Robert Strickland entered this hive of quiet industry, he almost thought he was in the wrong place.

"Afternoon," he greeted them, receiving what he had come to accept as thinly veiled contempt over the years. "Sandra, are you ready to brief me on this case?"

"Absolutely, sir," she smiled. The fact that they were already hard at work on the case and would probably continue to worry away at it regardless of what he thought, amused her. He had sent it to their department anyway, creatively making Elaine Parsons' death an unsolved case while in actual fact it had simply been left as a sort of assumed attachment to Carson's. His concern would be about the necessity to interview DCI Thomas and ex DCI Parsons. Warnings to tread carefully would ensue, his voice taking a deep tone as it became serious. She shook her head slightly as she indicated for him to take a seat. The sound of his voice was not something she needed to be thinking about when about to brief him on their progress so far.

He listened to each of them as Sandra indicated they present. It was something she insisted on, whilst usually sympathising with their lack of respect for her boss, she didn't see why they couldn't pull their weight in bringing him up to speed so that she didn't have to. The case promised to be less than straightforward; the team promised to be more than sensitive; he requested a private word with Sandra.

"How's Steve settling in?" he asked as he closed the door.

"Oh, fine," she walked to her computer and pressed the power button.

"Good," Strickland nodded. "I see you've released the embargo on his using Jack's desk."

She fixed him with a look which he was if not immune to, at least used to. "He needs access to a computer," she shrugged. "I don't think he's really a desk person anyway."

"No," he sighed. It appeared that he had allowed her to employ yet another wild card for her team.

"Is everything alright, sir?" she asked. He seemed distracted today, it wasn't unusual for him to be under pressure, and it was none of her business, but the question was out.

"Oh, I'm fine, thank you, just a lot on at the moment," he offered her an unconvincing smile. He didn't like lying, to anyone, but he recognised well enough that she was his subordinate and that her concern, although genuine, was not something he could respond to. She had turned him down before, not that he had ever had the boldness to act upon any feelings he had toward her, but in a quiet understated way, she had at least given the impression that even if she were not an officer under his command, she would not want to show him anything but dedication to her duty. But then, she had noticed a change in his demeanour today, the only person to after all those he had encountered so far since six am. He remembered her loyalty to him in the Fisher business, not so long past. He recalled the look in her eyes, the trust that she gave him that had probably saved his life.

"Sir," she hesitated. She did care about him, in a strange way. He was a part of her life in as much as a way as the boys were sometimes. He was a pain in the political arse and he was her boss. But he had come to them over that 'maelstrom' business, hadn't he? She wouldn't easily forget the fear that she had seen in his eyes in the car-park that morning, wouldn't easily forget the need she had felt to do whatever she could to take it away. Something had changed.

"Tread carefully," he had to leave before he said or thought something he oughtn't.

"Sir," she acknowledged.


	4. Parsons and Carson

_Parsons and Carson_

"Right," Sandra shook off thoughts of Robert Strickland and his odd behaviour as she walked out of her office, coat in hand. "Brian? Are you ready? You and me are going to see ex-DCI Parsons. Steve, Gerry, take Freddie Carson."

The boys extricated themselves from their respective workstations and assumed their coats. Steve and Gerry had their now usual silent debate over whose car they would take (for some reason, Steve always won – they would take Gerry's), while Brian locked out his laptop.

~o~

"Re-opening the case?!"

Sandra held out a hand to stop the grey-haired ex-detective from slamming the door back in their face.

"I'm sorry, it's just a bit of a shock. Come in," he stepped back and admitted Brian and Sandra into his comfortably furnished semi-detached home. "I don't know why really, please, take a seat. I had heard that Johnson was up for parole. Just, never imagined that it would initiate a re-investigation. I thought he had confessed?"

"To the murder of James Carson, yes," Sandra perched on the edge of the armchair while Brian chose the adjacent sofa. "But never actually to your daughter's killing."

"You were working in Fenchurch at the time?" Brian probed.

"Yes, Fenchurch East," Parsons confirmed. "Finished up there too, five years later. One of the best nicks I ever worked at."

"Were you in regular contact with your daughter, Mr. Parsons?" Sandra asked.

"Simon, please. Yes, we spoke at least once a week, on the telephone or met up for a drink if she wasn't working. We had our separate lives but, well, after her mum died, er, cancer, 1998, we made sure to keep, well, in contact."

"How long had you known that Elaine was having a relationship with both James and Freddie?"

"I'm not sure, not long. Maybe a couple of months before she died."

~o~

Gerry pulled up outside the block of council flats where number fifty-six was registered to Freddie Carson. He and Steve peered out of the Stag's windows up at the less than well-kempt building with experienced eyes. You could tell a lot about a bloke from where he chose to live, or where he ended up. Their research had shown that Freddie worked a few hours a week as security at a snooker bar, the money wouldn't be enough to give him a rock-star's lifestyle so neither had been surprised when the address had come through.

"Come on then," Gerry removed the key from the ignition and made sure that the windows were wound the whole way up. This was not an area he was prepared to take any risks with his pride and joy. He locked and double-checked the car doors as they left the vehicle and walked toward the block. "This way," he read the faded and graffiti-covered sign on the wall indicating which staircase would lead them to the right flat. The silence of the block during the day was uncanny, but as they passed numerous boarded up windows, they were not perturbed by it.

Steve rang the doorbell outside of fifty-six, a dull buzzing could be heard within but no one came to answer their call. He knocked on the door instead while Gerry peered into the grimy windows of the flat. Steve bent down and pushed at the letter box, calling Carson's name through it. He stood up and exchanged a shake of the head with Gerry who had ascertained that the neighbouring flats on both sides were equally as unlikely to hold any conversation for them.

"Come on, we'll try the snooker hall," the Londoner said, lighting a cigarette. "He's gotta be somewhere."

Steve grinned, his colleague was rarely thwarted he had noted. It had only been a couple of months in the smoke for him, and despite the sometimes cold-shoulders of Brian Lane and DS Sandra Pullman, he was enjoying the company. Gerry in particular had relished in finding a new drinking partner and had welcomed him in. But then Gerry was a more open character than the other two, easy to get along with. They made their way back to the car, Gerry checking every light and tyre before driving them to the snooker hall where they made equally as little progress. Apparently Carson wasn't due in until the evening.

"Back to base then," Gerry said, frustrated. "No, wait, I've got an idea."

Gerry led the way out of the club. He stood on the street for a while, looking both ways before making a decision and setting off up the road. He turned right at the top of the street and sure enough, two hundred yards ahead of them was a pub. He grinned triumphantly at Steve, who checked his watch, well, it was after lunch.

It was an old fashioned sort of pub, now quiet. Gerry ordered them each a drink and extracted from the landlord that Freddie Carson did usually drink there most days before going into work. In fact, if he was working that evening, the landlord was quite surprised that he wasn't already in attendance. The two detectives thanked the landlord for his time and took their leave. Gerry pulled out his phone.

"Sandra? Yeah, it's Gerry. Listen, have you left Parsons? Yeah, what time? Right. I think we've got something. No we haven't talked to Carson yet. Yeah, yeah, ok. Look, we'll see you back at the station in an hour, there's something, anyway. Yeah, bye."

Steve looked at him quizzically.

"I don't know why, or how, but I reckon Carson knows we want to talk to him, and I don't think he wants to talk to us," Gerry frowned. If Sandra and Brian had only just left Parsons' then it wasn't Parsons who had tipped off Carson, he wouldn't have had time. "Right, this bloke's a creature of habit, doesn't move beyond his immediate area. Hang on, does he have a car? Tell you what, I'll make a quick call to that, you start in there."

Steve looked at the bookies that Gerry pointed to and nodded. He smiled as he crossed the road, if Gerry had stayed in the job there was no way he'd have left as a sergeant, he thought.

An hour later they had succeeded in proving Gerry's hypothesis; Freddie Carson had a set routine around his immediate network of pub, shop, bookies and work. And no-one had seen him since yesterday. They made their way back to the station.

~o~

"Well?" Sandra asked as soon as they walked through the door.

"Nah," Gerry took off his coat. "He's been warned off. But how, who or why," he shrugged.

"Ok," she sighed. "Well, we'll assume that he's going to turn up somewhere, I'll put it out."

Sandra exited to her private office to make the required phone call for uniform to keep an eye out for Carson while Steve and Gerry settled themselves back in the office, observing the new notes that had been added to the case board. It was approaching four in the afternoon. Gerry opted to fill the kettle for the last brew of the working day while Steve scribbled the notes on their excursion down for reference. Brian was organising himself ready to talk to DCI Thomas who had promised to nip down for a chat with them at the end of his working day. He scratched his cheek as he checked his e-mails for updates on information that he had requested.

"So, you think someone tipped Carson off?" he inquired of his colleagues.

"Dunno," Gerry frowned rolling the packet of teabags back up and replacing it in its place on the side. Kitchen areas were the only place he was ever as organised as Brian, liking everything to have its assigned place to make it easier to find. Everywhere else, his desk especially, tended to be arranged in a state of balanced chaos. "But, he doesn't strike as the kinda bloke who deviates from his routine without good reason."

"Question is why?" Steve pondered. "Maybe it was him what shot Elaine after it came out that she had been shagging his brother? A sort of weird revenge tactic?"

"Grief-stricken he decides to shoot her?" Gerry shrugged. "Maybe."

"Either way, we've got to find him first," Sandra re-entered the room. "Brian, are you ready to talk to Thomas? He'll be here in fifteen minutes apparently."

"Half-day?" Steve looked at the clock. Half-past four was hardly a time for a chief inspector in serious crime to be knocking off, as far as he was concerned.

Sandra shrugged and studied the board. Gerry handed her a cup of tea and she drank it while they filled each other in on what they had found out. Twenty minutes passed before a grey-haired DCI Thomas knocked on the door. Sandra greeted him and introduced him to the boys before her and Brian relocated with the man to one of the interview rooms. They quizzed him on what he could remember about the case, his impressions of the people involved, why he had accepted that Johnson had killed Elaine Parsons and whether he had any idea why the man was now changing his story.

"I couldn't honestly say," he replied to the last question. "He didn't have any form, so my guess would be he's decided he doesn't like prison and is looking for a quicker exit."

"Right, well, thank you for your time, I hope you won't mind if we need to speak to you again?" Sandra said more out of routine than any thought that they would need to talk to him again. He had been as most officers whose cases she reinvestigated were – reluctant to admit fault.

"Of course," he replied, with a little less courtesy than she felt she had offered him. He stood up quickly. "My pleasure."

She frowned at Brian after the man had left. "Why do I keep getting the feeling that there's something funny going on here?"

"How do you mean?" Brian finished scribbling on his pad.

"Him, Parsons, Johnson. All of them are a little bit, I don't know. It's like they know more than they're telling us. Maybe I'm just being cynical. But then, Carson disappearing…"

"Could be coincidence," he reminded her gently as he held the door. "But then, I tend to agree. Johnson didn't have any form, why now? He was just a kid. I don't think he would have sat in prison quietly for one sentence if he thought he could get out of it. Fingering the real killer would have worked in is favour at the time, why now?"

"He was protecting someone?" she wondered aloud. "Freddie, perhaps? Tomorrow, I want to know if there is any possible link between them."

She looked around the office as they returned. "And I want to talk to the girl who has the restaurant now. And right now, I want to go to the pub."

"There's an idea," Gerry perked up behind his computer. "I've ran a search, Carson doesn't have any transport beyond his own two feet. Not even a rail card or a bus pass."

"Right, well hopefully uniform will get a sighting at some point, failing that I'll get a warrant in the morning to search his flat. Steve?"

"If someone tipped off Carson, it must be someone who knew about us reopening the case or someone who knew that Johnson was changing his story, get on to finding any connection between them. Anyway, pub?"

"Pub," the boys replied in unison.

She smiled and went to her office to close down her computer and get her things, she glanced at Jack's desk as she passed it, life went on.


	5. Times Are A-Changing

_Times are a-changing_

It was time. He knew that as he made it home from the shops that day, more tired and more slowly than any day previous. It had been four months. It was time.

~o~

"I need a favour."

Sandra looked up from the monthly reviews that she was reluctantly ploughing through as her superior officer barged into her office early the next morning carrying …a baby.

"Sir?" she rose from her seat, confused, amused and in a state of barely awake cognition. She had come in early to make a start on the balls-aching bureaucracy that came as part of her role as head of department. She had expected at least a further fifteen minutes of uninterrupted boredom before the boys descended on her and the excitement of case work could take her away from forms and appraisals. What she hadn't reckoned on was her boss turning up with … a baby.

He in turn, placed the carry-cum-car seat containing one small baby atop the only spare space on her desk, conveniently the ideal size for such a thing, and repeated, "I need a favour."

She looked at him, trying to discern if she was actually awake or not, then at the tiny child sucking its thumb, then back at him. He was not his usual self-assured self. He looked more worn and more distressed than yesterday, the stress she had previously detected only in his face appeared to have spread to his slightly creased shirt, badly tied tie and imperfectly gelled hair.

"What?" she asked warily.

"I need you to watch…her," he gestured at the child in an exasperated manner. "Please Sandra, I've got meetings all day with heads of departments and the assistant commissioner and the mayor and I can't have her with me. I need you to watch her."

"What?" she asked in astonishment. "Sir, I can't, we've got cases to review, evidence to.."

"Sandra, I know it's inconvenient and if there was any other way, don't you think I would have thought of it," he was beyond reasoning that morning. He had reasoned with the child's mother when told that he had to watch it; he had reasoned with the child when it had decided that breakfast was something to be spat up all down his best suit; he had reasoned with the car seat that hadn't wanted to be attached to his car; reasoned with the car seat when it hadn't wanted to be dis-attached from his car; reasoned with himself that Sandra and the UCOS boys were a much better place to leave the child than the crèche. If he had been less sleep-deprived and argument-exhausted, he might have questioned his reasoning on this point.

"It's always nice to be a last resort," she retorted. She couldn't honestly place any logical explanation for her boss being in the company of a baby let alone why he would consider it prudent or acceptable to pass said baby into the care of surely the least maternal person he knew and her department of unpredictable rogues.

"Will you do it?" he rolled his eyes at her naturally acerbic response. He knew that she could easily say no, would be more than within her rights to say no and would more than likely say no. But still he hoped that she wouldn't. Explaining to the crèche would be harder and more likely to spread around the station.

"Who is she?" Sandra asked in confusion.

"My niece," he answered quickly. "Look, she's been dumped on me for the day and I can't look after her."

"So now you want to dump her on us? Sir, you can't possibly…"

"Sandra, please?" it wasn't often that Robert Strickland had to beg. He really didn't have the patience to deal with the girls at the crèche, the paperwork it would require and the potentially embarrassing extrication of himself from any of his previously cited engagements to deal with anything the child might do. Sandra would at least be more subtle if anything untoward was to occur. He trusted her, he had trusted her with his life and been rewarded; he knew he was asking a lot, but he trusted her.

"Morning guv," Gerry called as he entered the main office, followed by Brian and Steve.

"Sandra?" the begging blue eyes locked with hers.

"I…"

"Have you had any word on Carson?" Steve's head appeared in the doorway before he entered her already crowded office. "Oh, morning, Sir," he addressed Strickland before he stopped short as he spotted the baby. "Hello," he finished in surprise.

"Hello, what's this?" Brian had followed Steve into the office, Gerry close behind him. Sandra wondered when the boys had decided that she had an open door policy first thing in the morning because she certainly couldn't remember officially announcing it and if she had she was fast beginning to regret it and compose a memo to retract the policy. She shook her head, it was strange morning when her boss entered her office with a baby and downright madness when she started to retract policies that hadn't existed in the first place.

"No, not what, who's this?" Gerry corrected Brian as he peered at the small child. "She yours guv'ner?" he looked cheekily up at Strickland.

"In a way," Strickland pleaded silently with Sandra, his stare distracting her from the current debate of her sanity into another.

"It's his niece," she filled in the boys shrugging. "He wants us to look after her."

"You what?" Steve raised his eyebrow.

"What do you mean?" Brian inquired simultaneously.

"Course we will," Gerry chimed in at the same time causing all other eyes in the office to fall on him. "What? It'll only be for a couple of hours, right? What trouble can the little one be?"

"Gerry?!" Sandra began angrily. Since when did Gerry get to make … well, no decision like this had ever come up before really, but it stank of him trying to get out of doing any actual work. Especially as he knew that aside from case-work she was about to give him one of those pointless review questionnaires to fill in.

"I really would appreciate it," Strickland seized his moment that Gerry, generous to a fault, had provided for him.

"Fine," Sandra sighed. She could just imagine what Jack's response would have been, the same question as Steve's but said in a much more forceful and disdainful way.

"Great," Strickland nodded. He lifted a bag that she hadn't noticed him carrying off of his shoulder and placed it on the chair opposite her desk. "There's … I don't know, nappies and bottles and things in there. I'll call as soon as I can and I will be back as soon as I can. Thank you."

He made to leave the office, casting the briefest of glances over the child currently casting its curious eye over the three men observing it.

"Sir," Sandra's voice called him back.

He looked round quizzically.

"Her name?" Sandra could have swung for any of them at that moment, her barely contained temper was exhaled in the one question that caused Strickland to feel very uncomfortable and very silly.

"Oh, yes," he cringed. He probably ought to have mentioned a name. "Annabella, Bella."

"Dark horse," Gerry grinned as he continued to offer Bella his car keys to play with.

Sandra scowled. "It's his niece," she reminded him. "Should you really be encouraging her to play with those?"

"No, probably not," he agreed, slipping the keys into his jacket pocket and replacing the object of desire with his fingers instead, grinning as the little one grabbed at them.

"Right," she took a deep breath and shuffled the papers on her desk into one pile which she put on top of all the other paperwork she had yet to deal with. "Coffee, anyone?"

"Yeh," Brian followed her out into the main office and went to set up his desk for the day.

"So, have you had any word on Carson?" Steve repeated his earlier question.

"Not yet," she sighed as she filled up the kettle. "Get that, will you?" she referred to the phone ringing in her office noting that Gerry had decided that just as they had all needed to be in her office, they now all needed to be in the main office, Bella included. "Why?" she asked to no-one in particular.

"He must be embarrassed," Gerry's grin could get no wider. "I mean, what is he? Fifty?"

"Fifty-four," Brian supplied. "And it's his niece, so what's his age got to do with it?"

"You don't believe that do you?" Gerry asked as he settled the carry-cot in one of the armchairs and himself in the one adjacent.

"Gerry," Sandra sniffed the milk. "Does your eagerness to baby-sit have any bearing on you not wanting to fill in your review sheet?"

"It's not that time again is it?" he groaned. "Sandra, I hate doing them things."

"Got 'im," Steve emerged triumphant from Sandra's office. "He turned up at home, less than thirty minutes ago."

"Great," Sandra hesitated pouring water into the mugs. "You and Gerry best get over there before he does another disappearing act."

"Gotcha," Gerry stood up and retrieved his keys.

"Yes, well, I'd like to talk to that Hallie before the restaurant opens up for lunch," Brian said hastily. "You know, before she gets busy doing…things."

"Right," Sandra finished making her own coffee then looked as all three men stood at the threshold of the UCOS lair. "Hang on a minute! What about … her? You can't just leave me with … her!"


	6. Friar's Restaurant

_Friar's Restaurant_

Sandra sighed as she took a look around what ought to have been her empty office. She picked up her coffee cup and stared at the baby that was staring at her.

"What?" she asked the child who merely opened and closed its lips in reply. Sandra rolled her eyes. Hopefully it would remain silent, she thought to herself, and besides, with the boys out of the office she could get on with the paperwork she had been working through before Strickland had landed the thing on her. She lifted the cot by its handle and took it back to her office. Swapping the bag on the chair for the cot, she opened the bag and saw that it did indeed contain the nappies and bottles and things that Strickland had suggested it might. She fished out the folded piece of paper and found as she had expected that it held instructions as to the baby's routine. Sighing again she walked around her desk reading the list before putting it to one side and drawing near again the pile of review sheets.

~o~

Steve and Gerry arrived at the block of flats that they had visited yesterday. An area car parked in the road caught their attention by flashing its headlights.

"Bloody subtle, aren't they?" Steve shook his head in exasperation.

Gerry merely guffawed as he lit up a cigarette and looked around, nodding once at the car. A uniformed officer got out of the car and came toward them, "UCOS?" he asked uncertainly.

Steve closed his eyes briefly to avoid telling the young man how bloody stupid he thought it was that they were drawing attention to him and Gerry like this.

"Yeh," Gerry put his lighter away. "Gerry Standing, Steve McAndrew. What's the deal?"

"We think he's gone again," the man who couldn't have been older than twenty informed them in an apologetic tone. "A blue Ford picked him up about two minutes before you got here."

"Great," Steve managed to keep at least some of the venom out of his response by limiting it to one word.

"Thing is, well, we thought it was a bit funny, so we done a check on the car while it was parked 'ere and it's registered to DCI Thomas."

"Now that is interesting," Steve agreed as Gerry hastily scrolled through the numbers on his phone. "Did he see yous guys?"

"Well this is our patrol route anyway, and he probably knows you've got the feelers out for Carson," the young guy who could have been his son if he didn't have such a stupid accent said.

"Yeah, that's fair enough," Steve nodded. "Gerry?"

"Just a sec," the Cockney waved a hand. "'Ello? Guv? Yeah, Carson's done another runner. No, wait, uniform saw him get picked up less than five minutes ago by a DCI Thomas. Yeah? Ok then. Yeah, we'll get on that. Alright, bye."

"Well?"

"Guv says she'll look into it. Meanwhile, Gene Richards. You boys alright then?" Gerry addressed the younger officer.

"Absolutely," the lad replied. "Like I say, this is part of our normal patrol anyway. If we spot him when he gets back, do you want us to call you direct?"

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea," Gerry fished for a card. "That's my number on there, what's your name?"

"PC Sam Williams," he took the card, checked it and popped it in his pocket.

"Alright Williams, thanks very much," Gerry nodded curtly and turned back to his car. Steve took a look up at the flats before following him.

"Hang on a sec," he said as Gerry started the engine.

"What for?" Gerry asked.

"Just wait," Steve waited until the panda had pulled away from the curb. "I'm just wondering if maybe he left in a hurry? Forgot to lock his door perhaps?"

Gerry grinned at the hopelessly curious look on his colleague's face. "Keep your phone on," he said.

~o~

"And now you have this place," Brian said looking around the large open plan restaurant. They sat one of a number of brown leather sofas in the entrance hall. Opposite them was a plain dark wooden barrier that kept the breeze from the glass doors at bay from the dining area accessed by a three-foot wide gap framed by a lectern, where the reservations list stood during service, and a pot plant. The restaurant was pleasantly furnished and although amply filled with chairs and tables, spacious.

"Yeah," the young woman he was interviewing, Hallie Richards, replied slowly. "My father owns it, but he's never really been interested in running it. So he kinda gave it to me."

"What, you didn't always want to be a, what do you call it, restauranteer?" Brian hesitated on the word, judging her reaction as he spoke.

"Not exactly," she sighed slightly as she fiddled with the pen she was holding. "Believe it or not, I wanted to be a writer. Even took a creative writing course at uni, but, writing doesn't pay the bills. Anyway, Dad found me a job here when I left uni and I kinda ended up here, running it."

"Well, you've not done too badly," Brian said gently.

"Thank you," she smiled genuinely. She looked around her restaurant proudly. "I'd like to think I've done Dad proud. James too."

"Did you know him well?"

"Not too well, no, he was here when I was at uni. I worked a couple of shifts for him. He was a good guy. Good at his job, good to his staff."

"Elaine?" Brian probed.

"I always knew there was something between them," she grinned. "She was as easy with him as she was with Freddie. Took his death hard. Then, two weeks later…it was hard to take in."

"Did you know Elaine's father at all?" Brian asked. He didn't know why but he agreed with Sandra's feeling that Parsons had been holding out on them. He was more involved in this case than he ought be as a relative, Brian just didn't know why yet.

"Her father, no. I really didn't know her that well. I'm sorry, I don't think I've been much help."

"Not at all, you've been most helpful," Brian corrected her. "Which university were you at?"

"Leeds, 1999 til 2002. English and Creative Writing."

Brian smiled, "Thank you, Miss Benson. Do you still write?"

"A bit," she looked at him quizzically. "Is that important to the investigation?"

"No," his smile widened. "Just curious. What do you write?"

She laughed softly. "Detective stories."

"Oh right," Brian nodded, it definitely wasn't relevant to the case, but it was interesting. How people's lives turn out, the dreams they have to leave behind and the ones they forget about. Over the years he'd taken to so many hobbies that he'd lost count as well as interest in them. Yet this polite, pleasant young woman managed to run a successful business and pursue a fascination at the same time. "Have you ever had any luck with them?"

"Not really," she looked toward the telephone by the entrance stand as it began to chirp and stood to answer it. "It's just a bit of fun I suppose. Excuse me," she lifted the ringing receiver. "Friar's Restaurant? Yes, he's right here. It's for you."

"Hello?" Brian answered after following her and taking the phone from her. "Ok, ta-ra," he handed it back to her. "Thank you Miss Benson."

"Hallie, please," she smiled as she replaced the receiver on its perch.

"Hallie, thank you very much for your help."

~o~

His neighbour opened the door and smiled to see her visitor; the quiet Englishman who had bought the house a few doors down not so long ago. She met him in the streets most days as he made his way about his daily routine, a journey to the shops, an afternoon amble around the block. They exchanged silent pleasantries, he assumed that she could not speak English, she assumed that he could not speak French. He looked tired today; a little more every day as though he were becoming impatient with time. "Bonjour," she greeted him pleasantly, she had no reason to dislike him.

"Bonjour," he replied quietly with a small smile. His voice was steady but had a gravely tone to it as though it had not been used much. "Pardon e moi, mais je ne parle bien francais pas. Parlez vous anglais?"

"Un peu," she replied encouragingly before continuing in badly pronounced courtesy. "Would you like to come in?"

"Merci," he accepted her helping hand over the step at her front door. "I'm sorry to bother you," he spoke slowly as though each word cost him more than he could bear. "But I need to ask you a favour."

"Mais, oui," she closed the door behind him and led him into her sitting room.


	7. Jack's Favour

_Hiya, sorry for the delay in posting, i hope people still want to read this! there are two sub-plots going on as well as the case, if it doesn't make sense, please let me know - i know where it's all going in my head but that sometimes doesn't translate into type! Anyway, enough waffle... enjoy!_

_Jessie xx_

* * *

_Jack's Favour_

"How did you get on?" Sandra asked Brian as he returned to the office. She peered around the doorway to her private den, watching as he hung his coat up.

"Yes, well," he said before coming into her office. "She hasn't seen her father in weeks, doesn't talk to him apparently."

"Yes, well Gerry and Steve are on their way to corroborate that then," she reached for her phone to text Gerry this information before he and Steve reached Richards. "Elaine and James?"

"She only worked a few shifts when they were there and she was at university, creative writing…"

"Brian…" Sandra said warningly, wary of his tone when he was about to disappear on a tangent.

"Anyway," Brian continued, eying the stirring of the baby opposite Sandra's desk with suspicion. "Said they were nice people, good at their jobs, definitely something going on between them though."

"Something?" Sandra followed his gaze to where their squatter was wiggling in her soon-not-to-be sleep.

"Romance," Brian supplied. "Or something like that. Oh, and she never met Elaine's father."

"Ok," Sandra concluded. "Right, well, Carson's done another runner apparently, this time in the company of DCI Thomas. Can you get on the system and find out the link between them? I've checked and Thomas hasn't brought him in here, Strickland's still in a meeting so I can't get him involved yet, but there is definitely something odd going on."

"I'll see what I can find out," Brian assured her.

"Have those finance records come through yet?" she asked.

"Should have," Brian replied. "I'll get on to them after."

"Thanks Brian," Sandra sighed as the child ceased wiggling in favour of wailing. "How can something so small make so much noise?" she muttered as she got out of her chair and walked around the desk to the little girl. "Come on, shut up," she said in vain.

Brian looked over from where he was setting up his computer to watch his un-maternal boss lift the child from its seat and place it against her shoulder, willing it to settle, and quickly. He shook his head in a mixture of amusement and disbelief and meandered to the kettle. "Coffee?" he called.

The baby's wails had settled to a steady wimpering within a matter of seconds, much to Sandra's relief. She shifted the weight slightly and moved to her doorway, "Yes, please."

~o~

"Come on Steve," Gerry held the phone to his ear, despairing at the continuing ringing. He had parked around the corner at the end of the street, correctly anticipating Thomas' return route. By his reckoning, Steve had just enough time to make a quick getaway from the time he sighted Thomas' car, which he just had. A knock at his window startled him from his studious stare down the road that the dark Ford had just turned. "Bleeding 'eck! Get in!"

Steve grinned as he walked around the car and got in the passenger seat. "Alright, Gerry?"

"You scared the life out of me!" Gerry exclaimed. "Anyway, any luck?"

"Doesn't like housekeeping much," Steve informed him. "There's a picture of him, his brother and this Elaine on the mantelpiece, but nothing very interesting."

"Fair enough," Gerry replied starting the engine. "Come on then, Mr. Richards."

~o~

The Assistant Commissioner that Rob Strickland had to report to and was currently sat in a meeting with was really quite a tiresome man. As Rob struggled to pay enough attention to the old bore so that he couldn't be left-footed when the dullard would inevitable quiz him in a summarising conclusion, he couldn't help but worry about the responsibility he had handed Sandra that morning. It wasn't that he didn't trust her, or the boys, to look after his 'niece'; or that he didn't trust them to keep it away from the grapevine; but it was natural to worry. As the old bore finished rambling, Rob felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, "Excuse me, sir," he checked the display, _Sandra Pullman_, perhaps he was right to have worried. "I really ought to take this, er, I'll be sure to pass on your concerns to the parties involved."

The Assistant Commissioner made some grumbling noise about being sure that he would and that he'd see him after lunch for the meeting with the Commissioner. Rob replied similarly and escaped into the corridor, checking each way as he clicked to answer the phone to see if there was anyone about, there wasn't.

"Sandra? What's wrong?" he regretted instantly the tone of anxiety in his voice. Panic was not something that Rob Strickland liked to do.

~o~

"Eh? Oh, christ, no, everything's fine there. She was napping but she's just woken up. Anyway, I know you're tied up this morning but we've got a complication down here. Ok, thanks," Sandra put the phone down and shifted the weight in her arms again; she'd tried putting the child back in the seat but had been rewarded with the threat of a fresh assault on their eardrums. She checked the clock before lifting the receiver again and dialling another number. "Gerry? How you getting on? Ok, get your arses back here then. Shut up."

This time when finishing with her phone calls, assuring Gerry that she certainly was not missing him that much, she started fishing in the bag for a bottle: according to the schedule, the kid had woken up for a feed. She walked through to the main office and sighed. Brian looked up from his desk and raised his eyebrow as his boss stared at the case board. When the kettle boiled, he stood up and moved to their kitchen area, preparing two coffees.

"Best make it five," she muttered. "Strickland's on his way down, and the others are on the way back. Do we have something that this'll fit in?" She gestured with the baby bottle in her hand.

They spent the next five minutes hunting through the office for a pot wide enough and sufficiently deep to half-submerge the bottle in to heat the milk within it. They settled eventually on the pen pot from Jack's desk as the doors to UCOS opened, admitting Gerry and Steve laughing and bickering about something. Sandra watched as Brian's eyes turned quickly away from them and back to his computer after seeing who it was. "Coffee's on the side," he muttered, pushing his glasses further up his nose.

"Ah, cheers mate," Gerry's nose had already happily detected the fresh brew at the opening of the door and his hand had collected a mug on the way to his desk. He took off his coat and turned around to lift the mug and nearly choked as he registered the sight of Sandra holding the baby. "Alrigh', Guv?"

She looked at him, then returned her attention to the bottle in the pen pot. She sighed. "Gene Richards?"

"Ain't interested in the restaurant, hasn't had contact with anyone involved in years, couldn't even tell us where Harrows lives. You alrigh' little one?" Gerry poked a finger at the bundle in Sandra's arms.

"Oh, and Carsons ain't hidin' anything except an aversion to housework," Steve threw his coat over the back of the sofa. "Any news on this Thomas guy?"

"You talked to Carsons? I thought he'd buggered off? Here, Gerry, take … this," Sandra manoeuvred the child into Gerry's slightly surprised arms as she turned on Steve who fixed a look of innocence and naivety to his face. "Steve?"

"Peeped through his curtains, Guv," Steve assured his unconvinced boss. "So there's no point getting that warrant now."

Sandra shook her head. Sometimes, well if she was honest, most of the time, she despaired at the boys ever noticing that there was a book. She watched as Gerry tested the temperature of the baby's bottle. "How do you know it's right?" she asked as Gerry proceeded to sit down with the child and introduce it to its elevensies.

"Experience," he shrugged. "You never had to look after a baby before?"

"No," she replied emphatically, picking her coffee off the side.

"How was Hallie?" Steve turned to Brian as he picked up his own coffee and took a sip. He had marked early on that Brian, despite not liking him much, had memorised precisely how he liked his coffee; one and a half sugars, not too much milk.

"Fine," Brian replied as he stood and went to the printer; he was printing off the finance records that had been sent through so that he could cross-reference them with the books he had borrowed from the restaurant. "Nice girl -," Gerry raised his eyebrow as he looked around for a tissue which Steve handed him so that he could dab at the milk dribbling down the baby's chin. "She writes detective stories."

"Who does?"

"Hallie," Brian turned around to see that Strickland had joined them. "She runs Friar's Restaurant now, her father's one of the owners. There's a coffee for you on the side."

"Oh, right, thank you," Strickland raised an eyebrow; he didn't usually get coffee.

"Sugar's in the tin marked 'Gerry and Steve'," Brian returned to his seat. "Milk's on the side."

"Thank you," Strickland repeated and added milk to the coffee, but no sugar as Brian noted. "So, a complication, Sandra?" He watched as Steve emerged from Sandra's office with the packet of baby wipes and a small soft towel which he handed to Gerry as Belle bored of her bottle.

"Yes," she too watched as Gerry burped the child and wiped her mouth and chin with a wipe. "Carson was picked up by DCI Thomas this morning. Brian's been running a search to see if there's a connection between them. Brian?"

"Well, aside from Thomas' involvement in the original case, I can't find any link between them. Different ages, different schools, different areas, different colours," Brian shrugged. "Sorry."

"What did DCI Thomas say when you interviewed him?" Strickland asked.

"Not a lot," Sandra replied. "He accepted Johnson's confession, hasn't a clue why he's changing his story and when he interviewed Freddie Carson, Carson seemed genuinely upset. Has Carson got any form?"

"No," Brian responded to her question as he finished his coffee. "Nothing on record except his interview's about his brother and about Elaine."

"James Carson's file was closed," Strickland said thoughtfully. "Who was the investigating officer on that?"

"Detective Inspector George Barns, retired 2002, died 2008," Brian drew breath. "He was the SIO of both cases."

"Concluded that Johnson's confession was genuine and that Elaine's killing was connected to James Carson's through the association with the reference. Do you want me to take her?" Steve gestured to the child now falling back to sleep in Gerry's arms.

"Yeah, cheers mate," Gerry handed over the little one to the Scot who had retrieved the carrycot from Sandra's office and proceeded to settle the child in it.

"Right, well," Strickland put the mug he was holding on the side and looked at the white board. "Carson was out when you went to see him yesterday; that was before you interviewed Thomas. But Thomas did know that you wanted to see him and that it was about this case. At the moment it looks as though he is the only one who could have told Carson that you wanted to see him. I'm assuming you still want to talk to Carson?"

"Yes," Sandra replied. "But if we put out a general warrant for his arrest –"

"DCI Thomas will go on the offensive. I'll tell him you want to talk to him again, today. And I'll authorise a tail on Carson until then. Has she been alright?"

"What? Oh yes, fine," Sandra frowned at the baby sleeping in its carrycot.

"Good, thanks, I'll tell Thomas to come down at four. I'll be free by then to come down as well. Thanks for the coffee."

"Thank you, Sir," Sandra watched him leave before turning her attention back to her boys. "Gerry, have you looked at the Carson file?"

"Yeah. I'll go through it again, though," Gerry stood to go back to his desk.

"Right, Brian get on with checking the books through. Steve, I want any link between Thomas and anyone else on the Parson case. I'm going to go see Mr. Parsons again," she collected her bag and coat as she spoke. "So, I'll see you later, enjoy the babysitter's club."

~o~

"So," she settled in the armchair opposite where he sat on the sofa, taking a sip from the coffee cup in her hands before placing it on the table beside her. "A favour?"

"Yes," her visitor said. "I need to ask you to do something for me. Something very important."

"Of course," she replied, it was in her nature to help anyone in need in whatever way she could.

"I have a friend, in England. If anything happens to me, I would appreciate it if you could telephone him and tell him."

"Do you expect something to happen?" she asked softly, leaning forward. The sadness that this man carried with him concerned her, though she was fairly certain she had guessed its origin.

He pursed his lips into a grim smile and nodded once, never losing eye contact with the clergyman's wife.

"I understand," she relaxed back into her seat. "Is this all you wish, for me to ring this friend? Nothing else?"

"No, no," Jack replied. "Everything else is taken care of."


	8. Reflections

_hiya, I'll admit I got a little lost with this story, this part should get it back on track! Next time, I am soo not going to try and be clever and have zillions (three) storylines going on... anyway, hope you enjoy!_

_Jessie xx_

* * *

_Reflections_

"I should write a book," Gerry leant back in his chair. He'd been through the whole case file again and found nothing to suggest a link between the original investigation into James Carson's death and the then DI Thomas.

"Yeah?" Steve raised his eyebrow. "Memoirs of a failed womaniser?"

"Nah, but when you're writing it's every little detail, Gerry," Brian peered over his glasses. "You didn't even notice when Sandra had her hair done last week."

"You mean you did? And what do you mean failed?!"

~o~

Sandra sat in her car outside Simon Parsons' house. He had denied knowing DCI Thomas. She didn't believe him. They were missing something. Someone. She fished in her handbag for the small notebook she carried. She slid the pen she kept with it out of the spiral-binding and flicked to a spare page.

_Elaine Parsons - dead _

_James Carson - dead_

_Tommy Johnson – admits to James not to Elaine_

_Freddie Carson – boyfriend of Elaine – brother of James_

_Simon Parsons – father of Elaine_

_DCI Thomas – investigating officer, Parsons case. Link with Carson?_

_DI Barns – investigating officer, Carson case. Dead._

_Hallie Richards – runs Friars_

_Gene Richards – owns Friars_

_Bobby Harrow_ – _owns Friars_

They could eliminate James for killing Elaine. If Freddie employed Johnson to kill his brother for having an affair with his girlfriend, then why did Johnson maintain that it was restaurant creditors that employed him to do it? It still made sense that Freddie could have hired Johnson to kill both of them and then decided that he'd rather shoot Elaine himself. But the original investigation agreed that the restaurant had creditors, which reconciled with Johnson's story. And was the only thing that interfered with the theory of Freddie's revenge killings. She'd have to wait for Brian to confirm the original team's findings to completely rule out Freddie. But of course talking to the man would also help. Well, thanks to Strickland, she should be able to find out what Carson's connection with Thomas was in a few hours. Then they still had to find the elusive Mr. Bobby Harrow and press Johnson to say who actually hired him in the first place.

"Piece of piss," she muttered as she started the engine.

~o~

"There's nothing here," Steve exclaimed in exasperation. "The file's so tidy it might as well have been wiped clean!"

"Ditto," Gerry agreed. "There is no link between DCI Thomas and the restaurant or anyone connected to it."

"Except that he disappeared this morning with someone we want to talk to about it," Steve nodded.

"You got anything yet, Brian?" Gerry turned to his friend and colleague whose head had been bent over his desk for the last hour with very few words forthcoming.

"Nothing yet," Brian sighed, looking up. "I've cross-checked the business accounts with James and Elaine's personal and joint accounts and I can't find anything amiss."

"Maybe it didn't go through the accounts," Gerry suggested. "Cash debts?"

"Aye, bookies," Steve nodded at Gerry who cringed. "Or protection money?"

"Round there?" Gerry asked incredulously then shrugged. "Maybe, either way, I'm going for a fag."

~o~

She pulled up in the car park and saw Gerry standing by the side door. Getting out of the car and locking it, she walked over to him.

"Alright, Guv," he greeted her. "Parsons say anything?"

"No," she told him. "Said he didn't know Thomas, then or now. I asked him about the restaurant debts and he said that Elaine never talked about it. Carson borrowed money from the two partners when he took over the place though, so it might be worth checking on that."

"Well Brian's had 'is 'ead in the books since you've been gone," Gerry replied. "He hasn't found anything yet apparently."

"You and Steve find anything?"

"Nope," he stubbed his cigarette out on the wall and dropped it through the slot of the ashtray by the door. "No link between Thomas and the restaurant or any of the people involved."

She suddenly realised that if Gerry was outside, the others were alone with their charge. As much as she could protest at Strickland's leaving her with them, she was fully aware of the responsibility he had entrusted them with. Gerry was clearly the most capable of looking after a baby, having had three daughters and his grandson, his credentials for babysitting were definitely more reliable than the other two. Steve she really didn't know that well and Brian, god she hoped Brian wasn't going to start remembering how 'bad' a father he had been to Mark when he was little. "Are those two alright with the…"

"Bella?" he interrupted her. "Yeah, course. They've both had kids of their own."

"Of course," she murmured. All of her boys were fathers. Gerry was even a grandfather. It had just been her and Jack. Maybe that's why she missed him. She had more in common with him than the others. But even he had Mary. She thought back to her own, brief, marriage. It had ended in disaster of course, as most of her relationships had. Quickly, too. She shook her head, it had been a mistake. But all to do with being competitive. Her friends were getting married, she had to do better. She crossed herself; all of the friends she had had back then were either still married or had divorced after years of trying to make it work. Six months hers had lasted, if that.

"You alright, Sandra? I mean, I know it was a bit off for Strickland to throw her on us, but she's been no bother," he trailed off. "She's a nice baby."

"A nice baby?" she turned and looked at him, wondering if she really wanted to question what he meant by 'nice baby' and deciding that, no, she didn't. "Whatever. Let's get some lunch." She would have suggested going to the pub for lunch; aside from Brian's work on the finances, there wasn't a lot they could do until they talked to Thomas later in the afternoon; but they did have Bella for the day. "Then you can fill out your review sheet."

Gerry groaned and followed her into the building. "You taking Brian with you to talk to Thomas?" He hadn't failed to notice that recently, since Steve had joined the team, that although she did still team them up in different configurations, more often than not she kept Brian with her and had Steve working with him. He didn't mind of course, he got on with all of the team he was part of, for the first time in his working life, he didn't even mind Strickland all that much. But he knew that part of it was because Brian hadn't taken all that well to Steve's arrival; and that Sandra missed Jack far more than she would admit. The look she gave him, questioning his question, told him that he wasn't far off the mark in her wanting to make sure that Brian felt needed.

"No," she replied as they got to the canteen. "He can carry on with the finance stuff. I'll take Steve in with me. You can look after Bella. And Gerry- if he starts to get philosophical about when Mark was a baby…"

He nodded grimly. "I'll set him straight." As they picked the four last decent sandwiches out of the cabinet, three apples and a muffin from the selection available, and took them to the till, he realised for the first time that although he had been there to help pull Brian back from the edge many times, it had always been Jack who was the one to notice, to talk sense into and to care for the northerner. Gerry held Brian in high esteem as a copper and as a friend, but Brian, if he ever looked for help in the right places, would turn to Jack before himself.


	9. Detectives That Want To Solve Crimes

_oky-doky, day off work due to bad weather means that I am cracking on with this fic! also, I've changed the rating as the language is getting away from me... apparently Sandra and the boys are getting as frustrated as me with how long this is taking! anyway, enjoy!_

_Jessie xx_

* * *

_Detectives that want to solve crimes_

She knew why she missed Jack. Without him, not only was she short of one of the best friends she'd ever had but she felt the burden of responsibility more. He had been her deputy, and at times the only one who could exert control over Brian's sanity and Gerry's temper. Now she had three renegades and she was on her own with them. And, she admitted to herself, what he had said had been true: with him around, she didn't have to stand on her own two feet; it wasn't that she couldn't. What she had told him was true; she just didn't want him to go. It meant she was on her own.

They sat quietly through the afternoon after having lunch. Sandra gave the boys their review sheets to fill in while she worked out what she wanted to ask Thomas and the next steps they would take. Apart from the occasional exchange between Gerry and Steve, about how ridiculous the forms were, there was hardly a sound in the UCOS office.

Brian was the first to finish filling in his form and brought it back to her, surprising her as usually he wanted to take it home and give it back the next day in order to think through what the expected answers were before writing it.

"Thanks Brian," she said as she took the piece of paper from him and placed it inside the file that she would hand to Strickland that evening. "Have you found anything yet?"

"No," he replied. "The money that was borrowed from the partners was all paid back, apart from what they kept in shares. Looking at the original files though, Johnson never said who it was that hired him and neither Thomas or Burns took too much trouble to find out who."

"Ok," she said, making a note to quiz Thomas on that. "Keep at it."

"Will do," he smiled.

"Brian?"

"Yes?"

"Are you ok?"

He studied her for a moment before replying. If she didn't know him as well as she did, she might have been worried by the length of his silence or the look he gave her; trying to work out what she meant, analyse what she wanted to hear, considering the true answer to the question.

"I'm fine," he assured her with a genuine smile. "I should be finished by the time Thomas comes down."

"I thought I might take Steve in with me," she said, wary that she might be about to offend him. "I'd like you to observe, though, if you're done with the books."

"Of course."

"There's something wrong, Brian. There's a lie in this case somewhere."

He nodded. "Johnson, Parsons, Thomas. If we could talk to Carson, I bet he'd lie too."

"Probably," she agreed.

"Coffee?"

She knew he was hiding something. She knew he wasn't alright. He didn't know how to excuse himself; even to get back to work. She was sure though, that it wasn't to do with Bella and fatherhood like she expected. "Yes, coffee. Have those two finished their forms?"

She stood as she asked the question and followed him back into the main office. "Oh for christ's sake," she hissed as she watched paper aeroplanes flying across the office like darts as Gerry and Steve entertained the baby watching their every move with wide eyes.

By four o'clock, both Gerry and Steve had completed their review forms and tidied the office which had as Sandra put it "become something resembling a crime scene rather than a place where anything could be solved" and were encouraging Bella to take an afternoon nap while Brian continued to hit a blank on the financial records; the copies from the original investigation did not match with the official records from the tax man and the banks.

"Afternoon," Strickland entered the office. "DCI Thomas is waiting for you in Interview Room One, Sandra. Hello little one…"

The baby on hearing his voice had decided that she wasn't even going to pretend to be sleepy anymore and instead squirmed in Steve's arms to see her 'uncle'.

"Ok, Steve?"

"Aye, right with you," the Scotsman looked around to find Gerry ready to take Bella from him. "Ooh, Gerry…"

Gerry screwed his nose up. "Yeah, yeah. You had to wait for everyone else to bugger off, didn't you?"

"When you've done that, get back to finding Bobby Harrow, he can't have just vanished," Sandra hid a smirk as she led her boss, Steve and Brian out of the main office and into the corridor leaving Gerry to change the baby's nappy. "Right, Brian, Sir."

Brian and Strickland entered the observation room while Steve and Sandra continued into the interview room. She nodded to the uniformed officer who left silently, even if he was intrigued. But, PC Williams remarked to himself as he left the room, he was _always_ intrigued.

"Hello again," Sandra began as she sat down. "This is Steve McAndrews, who I don't think you've met."

"Good afternoon," Steve sat beside her and greeted the nervous looking man. It marvelled him how this middle-aged man of rank was practically shaking in front of them. Mind you, Sandra Pullman scared him at times.

"This is about Freddie Carson?" he opted for straight-to-the-point in his broad London brogue.

"Amongst others, but if you've got something to get off your chest?" Sandra raised her eyebrow.

"Freddie didn't kill Elaine," he sounded almost triumphant. "He wasn't even in London that night, visiting a friend in Manchester."

"And you confirmed that?" Steve pulled his notebook out of his pocket. "Only it wasn't in the original case file."

"In fact, there's very little in the original case files to suggest that you looked any further than Tommy Johnson, after he confessed of course," Sandra's face was unreadable, her tone was lightly accusatory, totally professional and mildly confused. Which was exceptionally attractive, Strickland noted to himself as he stood next to the frowning Brian.

"Look," he sounded like a child who had just realised exactly how he could blame his brother for breaking their mother's favourite ornament and get away with it. Unfortunately having worked with Gerry and Brian for ten years, Sandra was well used to the register. "When I heard you were reinvestigating the Parsons case, I'll admit, I got to thinking whether there was anything I'd missed and I realised just that, that I hadn't chased up the brother, so that's what I did."

"What about the father?" Steve asked.

"Father?"

"Elaine's father," Sandra said flatly. "Former DCI Simon Parsons."

A flicker passed behind the man's face. Strickland began to frown. Brian's frown deepened.

"Obviously it's a matter of contention whenever we re-investigate a case," Sandra continued with a weary tone. "Officers from the original investigation start to worry that they've missed something, as you say, sometimes they can get quite aggressive, suggesting that we're trying to discredit their work. Of course, those still in the job might start to worry that we might uncover something that casts aspersions on their career now," she had become more assertive in her speech, with an edge that suggested if anyone dare try to lie to her now, she'd show them how sharp she was. Softening her tone and relaxing her shoulders slightly she paused, her eyes never leaving the face of the man opposite her. "So, why don't we start at the beginning?"

Allowing a pause, which DCI Thomas neglected to fill, Steve prompted the dialogue; "The death of James Carson, occurred two weeks before Elaine Parsons'. The night of Saturday 15th July, 2000. He was taking the rubbish out the back of the kitchen when he was shot. Nobody saw anything. DI George Barnes, in the same area murder squad as you, was in charge of the case. He," Steve checked his notes. "Received an anonymous tip that the restaurant was in debt and that someone had hired a Tommy Johnson to 'do in the manager'."

Thomas made no remark.

"Barnes spent the next week trying to find this Tommy Johnson, who had mysteriously gone to ground," Steve continued as if he were reading the weather. "Hardly surprising as he'd just shot a man down in cold blood. Probably gone to collect his payment. Barnes had hardly anything to go on; no-one had seen anything, no weapon had been found, the tip-off came from a phone box. He couldn't even find out who might have hired this Johnson because the restaurant books didn't show a deficit that could support the caller's information. And of course, he couldn't find Johnson. His first glimmer of hope in his case really was when Elaine Parsons was shot."

"Friday 28th July, 2000," Sandra took over. "You were called out to the scene at about eleven pm. Must have been a bit of a mess. Well, it was. You found Johnson less than five miles away from the scene of the crime the next day. Confessed to killing James Carson. Now that must have been interesting for you, because it wasn't your case, was it?" she leant forward. "But you knew about it, obviously, you and DI Barnes were on the same team, he'd have told you about the trouble he was having tracking James Carson's killer down. What a stroke of luck that you'd found him."

"How did you know that you were looking for him?" Steve asked. "And how on earth did you know where to find him?"

"I talked to George," Thomas looked around the room. "Figured it might be a coincidence. But, like you said, it was the only lead he had. It was worth checking him out."

"I can see the logic there," Sandra agreed, looking to Steve who nodded politely, suggesting that he too thought that Thomas had followed a legitimate hunch. "Both work at the same restaurant, one's the manager, the other head waitress. Did you know they were having a relationship? While she was involved with his brother? Whose alibi you conveniently forgot to substantiate?"

"Look," Thomas leant forward, meeting Sandra's eye for as long as he could. "Johnson admitted to killing Carson. He told me that he'd been hired to kill the Parsons girl too. Barnes hadn't been able to find him because both of them had to be dead before he got paid so of course he'd gone to ground! Yes, Parsons' father told me that she'd been seeing both brothers- but Freddie Carson wasn't in London that night. I've checked that out. Maybe I should have told you what I was doing, but nobody admits that they might have dropped a bullock, do they?"

"Who hired Johnson to kill James Carson?"

"Come on, don't tell me you didn't ask, we know you didn't follow it up, but hell, you thought you'd copped an easy collar."

Thomas sank in his chair slightly.

"Come on DCI Thomas," Sandra goaded him quietly. "You didn't drop that big a one, now why don't you prove you've got some left?"

Strickland let out a grunt of laughter without meaning to. He turned his head to see Brian looking at him, he could never quite read Brian's expression. Gerry was easy to read, his thoughts were always on his face, usually that his boss' boss was a tosser. Steve didn't ever seem to hold back if he had something to say. He could even decipher Sandra when he needed to. But Brian, was probably the most inscrutable loose cannon he'd ever met. He turned his gaze back to the interview room.

Thomas looked decidedly uncomfortable as he admitted that Johnson hadn't told him who had hired him and that he hadn't tried very hard to find out. "I had a confession. It closed the case."

Sandra scowled. She could almost hear the words of her old mentor, resonating from the past, from UCOS's first case re-investingating the death of Anna Debrovski: _there are detectives that want to solve crimes; and those that just want to clear them up_.

"Look, I'm not a bad cop," Thomas protested.

"No," she replied sternly. "Just a lazy one."


	10. CBeebies

_CBeebies_

"Right," Sandra said as she watched DCI Thomas climb the steps out of their domain. Clearly he didn't want to wait for the lift and spend another second in their company. She noted the sparing look he threw at PC Williams who had been sat on the bench by the stairs waiting for him. Strickland signalled to the young officer to wait for him before following Thomas out.

"Steve, Carson. Check his alibi out. Brian, you and me are going back to see Johnson."

"I'll call them for you," Strickland pulled his phone from his pocket. "Is Gerry ok with Bella? It's just I'm in with the mayor in twenty minutes and I don't know how long I'll be…"

Sandra fixed her boss with a quizzical expression. Of course Gerry was alright with her. He had been all day. She still wanted to know where the baby had come from, why it's mother had dumped it on Strickland for the day. But these questions could wait. "He'll be fine."

"Who will?" Gerry had arrived at the office doors. "Thomas gone?"

"Yeah," she looked at him. "Harrow?"

He looked at his feet, not wanting to admit that he'd actually spent the last half an hour playing with Bella's rattle. "Kinda…"

"Whatever," she cut him off.

"Right," Strickland watched the exchange between them with a silent amusement. He knew as well as Sandra did what Gerry had been doing, and he knew that Gerry knew too. "I should be back in an hour, thanks Gerry, Sandra."

"What's he thanking me for?" Gerry looked aghast as Strickland climbed the stairs with his phone now against his ear and PC Williams in tow.

"You get to play with Bella's toys for another hour," Brian winked at his friend as he walked past to get his coat.

~o~

"Strickland's sister is older than him," Brian said thoughtfully as they pulled up in the prison carpark.

Sandra looked at him. "So?"

"So it can't be his niece," Brian added unhelpfully. He returned her glance. "Why do you think he brought her to us?"

"Who?"

"Bella."

"He probably thought we wouldn't ask questions," she said in a tone that Brian knew meant she didn't want him to ask anymore questions about it. Satisfied that Brian had got the message she got out of the car. It amused her how the way things were said communicated more than the words spoken sometimes. Knowing this had helped her to crack more witnesses and criminals than she could count; and exert control over her boys in a subtle manner so that they only realised they were being reprimanded or praised after she had left the room. But, she thought to herself as they waited to be shown through to a room with Johnson, it was a good question. Discretion was a watchword in their business, tested in high profile cases, disregarded in extreme circumstances, employed to protect the vulnerable. She struggled to get her head around the idea of Strickland being vulnerable; his rank made things difficult for him, she supposed. Yet, when dealing with Fisher it had proved equally as ineffective as influential. Bringing a baby into the station though, that was another matter. It stripped him of his rank, made him human. The begging look in his eyes that morning showing the man as it had in the carpark that cold morning during the maelstrom case; a man. On his own, asking for her help because he had no-one else to turn to. Why was she such a sucker for his eyes? Her mind rolled over the words that an artist had once said to her: _our faces give us away_. She remembered hoping that hers wasn't at that moment, she hadn't felt particularly in control as she had sat being drawn by his hand. It had made her feel decidedly uneasy. But the words were true, _our faces give us away_. As she watched Johnson react to their presence, she found herself paying particular attention to his eyes; there was no fear in them, but a relief which spread over the rest of his face as he told them who had hired him to shoot Carson:

"Bobby Harrow."

~o~

"Do you think it's his?" Brian asked as they walked back down the stairs to the office.

"Brian," she said warningly. She knew he hadn't dropped it. He never dropped anything. He was like a dog with a bone at the best of times, and now was not the best time for him to get distracted. Bobby Harrow had everything to do with this case, and she had the suspicion that if they were going to find him, they were going to need Brian's sideways thinking.

"Alright," he held his hand up to hold the door open for her. "It's just, secrets, you know…?"

She looked at him wearily. Most other departments would be clocking off about now but she had a feeling that her and the boys would be pulling a much longer shift than the rest of the MET tonight.

"Let's just get on," she said wearily as she walked through the doors and stopped short at the sight she saw.

"What's …!" Brian grunted as he almost fell into her.

"Ssh," Gerry looked up from his desk and signalled to Brian so that the detective's eyes were drawn to the same sight as Sandra's were fixed upon.

Sandra stared. She noted briefly that there was some colourful activity on the television screen which had been moved to be watched from the red sofa that had been a part of UCOS for as long as it had been a unit. Slouched on that sofa now was her boss, eyes closed and as asleep as the baby lying on him, her fingers twitching against the lapels of his jacket.

Brian shook his head and continued his journey to his desk.

"Where's Steve?" Sandra asked as Gerry stood up and pointed at the kettle. "Yes, please."

"Gone out to talk to Gene Richards," Gerry said quietly.

"How long?"

"Oh, he got back about quarter past five, they've been asleep since half-past."

"Right," Sandra said slowly. She sighed and went through to her office to hang up her coat. "Well, Johnson told us that it was Harrow who hired him to kill James and Elaine, so we're going to have to find him. Why's Steve gone to see Richards?" She went back out into the main room and moved a sheaf of papers off the red chair to sit down. Leaning forward she picked up the remote control and turned the volume down on the television. Her eyes were drawn back to the peaceful sight to her left; she'd always found the concept of watching someone sleep off-putting, but she could see now how easy it was to do.

"Well, the address that Thomas found Johnson was a flat that at the time was owned by Gene Richards," Gerry informed her. "And the last known address for Bobby Farrow was a house also owned by Gene Richards."

"Ah," Sandra nodded.

Strickland's phone started to ring in his pocket. He stirred at the sound and looked down in confusion for a moment at the weight lying on him. "Ohm," he uttered. He shuffled to reach his pocket and draw his phone out. "Sorry, uh, Sandra, would you mind?"

She sat forward and helped him to shift Bella into her arms so that he could answer his phone. He nodded a bewildered thanks as Gerry placed two mugs of coffee on the table for him and Sandra.

"Hello?" he blinked heavily. "Hiya love…yes…yes…right…ok…well I'll be on my way in half an hour…no I'll meet you at home…yes, she's fine…ok…well I'll see you in a bit…yes, sure…ok. Bye." He hung up and looked around him. Gerry was drawing a box on a spare section of the board and adding a new title of 'Bobby Harrow'. Brian was frowning at the papers on Gerry's desk. Sandra was holding Bella and he had to go home.

"Everything alright?" Sandra asked him quietly. She couldn't deny that she was as curious as Brian and the fact that she had found her boss napping in her department told her that part of the stress she had seen in his face the last few weeks was due to lack of sleep; she deduced that the baby, niece or not, was staying at his place with its mother, whoever she was.

He met her eye for a moment. The concern that he had seen there the previous day when she'd asked him that question, was there again. "Yes," he assured her. "Everything's fine. How did you get on with erm Johnson?"

"He told us it was Bobby Harrow who hired him," she told him.

"Right, so DCI Thomas…?"

She rolled her eyes. "Went with the confession, closed the case quickly. I don't think there's anything else to read into it."

He nodded and sipped his coffee. "Well that's one thing. And ex-DCI Parsons?"

"I don't know," she shook her head. "I still think he's lying to us. But we've not found any link between him and the rest of them, other than he was Elaine's father."

"Right," Strickland looked about him helplessly. He couldn't quite place what he was feeling; embarrassment mostly.

Sandra watched as his head moved from side to side, looking for nothing in particular. She could sense that he felt embarrassed, but there was something else too.

"I need to get Bella home," he tried to assemble his thoughts into coherent sentences as an overwhelming sense of shame took hold of him.

"Right," Sandra said softly. She glanced over her shoulder, the boys were busy huddled around Gerry's computer, looking at something on the screen. She was fairly sure that this was just a ruse on their part however. "Look, drink your coffee. I'll get Gerry to get her things together for you."

He looked at her with a saddened gratitude that she couldn't quite understand. "Thank you," he almost whispered.

"It's ok," she smiled, she could tell he was troubled but knew that he wasn't about to tell her. She knew because she could read him this time, he needed someone to rely on, but would not ask. She knew because she saw it her own expression some mornings when she looked in the mirror. Standing, she rested a hand on his shoulder while she was sure the boys were still occupied. "Gerry, can you get Bella's things together? Brian, ring Esther. Steve, find the menu for the Chinese." She turned back to watch as her boss sipped his coffee, staring at the now blank television screen. Bella wiggled in her arms. She'd lost one responsibility and gained several more, it seemed.


	11. Working Late

_heya, this chapter's a little sketchy, but it leads to the next one! also, I dunno if it properly ties in the first one or not, but it's a way i've tried to excuse the one-parter becoming this long! anyway..._

_Jessie xx_

* * *

_Working Late_

"So did Richards have anything to say?" Sandra asked Steve after Strickland had gone and they had ordered the Chinese.

"No, he still says he hasn't seen Harrow in months. Pays the rent through the bank, hasn't missed a payment though. I popped round but he was out, neighbours reckon he's often off on business."

"What business is he in?" Sandra pondered as she frowned at the board.

"Don't know," Steve replied, joining her on the red chairs. "Gerry?"

"I haven't found anything," the Cockney pulled a face. "Apart from his association with Friars, I can't find him anywhere."

"Great," Sandra frowned. "This case is full of people who are everywhere but nowhere!"

"We still need to talk to Carson," Steve pointed out.

"Right, well you can go and do that after we've eaten," Sandra sighed. "Why is it you always get hungrier after you know you've ordered food?"

~o~

"You know something?" Gerry mused as he put the foil box of prawn toasts back on the coffee table now strewn with half-empty cartons of food. "I wonder if Parsons knew this Harrow bloke."

"How do you mean?" Steve asked, hastily moving his notebook away from the greasy silver that Gerry had dropped on it.

"Elaine, or her father?" Brian relaxed back in his chair, closing his eyes in full satisfaction.

"Either, both," Gerry supplemented. "I mean, he must have been involved in the restaurant back then a bit. If she was like head waitress, she'd have been there a lot. Richards and Harrow were partners, right? So they must have popped in every now and then to check on their investment, particularly if Carson still owed them money from setting it up."

"And Johnson reckons it was Harrow who set him up to kill James and Elaine," Sandra nodded as she leant forward and added her empty rice container to the pile of rubbish on Steve's 'desk'. "Brian, the payments to the partners, are they all documented in the records?"

"They should be," he agreed with his eyes still shut. "I'll go back over them. Thing is, it looks like it was all paid back."

"Maybe that's just what got put in the books," Steve suggested. "So it looked like the accounts were all in good shape when really there were still debts outstanding. Can we see where the money actually went, when it was put down to Harrow?"

"I'll have another look," Brian said shortly.

Sandra and Gerry exchanged glances that held a touch of exasperation. Brian might not like Steve, but he could at least be civil, surely. They both knew the answer to that, they both knew Brian.

"Right," Steve stood up. "I'll go and see if Carson has turned up to work. See you later."

"See you Steve," Sandra pushed against the arm of the sofa and surveyed the mess in front of her. "Where's the bin gone?"

"Side of me desk," Brian informed her without moving.

"You're not going to fall asleep there are you?" she smiled.

"No, just resting my eyes," he corrected her. "Digesting."

"Right," she picked up the bin and started shifting the remains of their feast into it.

"Don't throw the crackers," he murmured. "I'll have them."

"Right," she rolled her eyes.

"And I'm going for a cigarette," Gerry stood up. "Digesting," he added as she looked at him. "Hello sir, forgotten something?"

She looked up to see Robert Strickland in the doorway.

"No, not at all, er, good evening Gerry, Sandra, Brian?"

"He's digesting," Sandra informed him as Gerry slipped past him. "What can I do for you?"

"I just…I wondered if you could use a hand?"

"Ok," she said slowly. "Well, we're still trying to track down Bobby Harrow, he's apparently away on business, but we can't find out what he does. So…"

"I could access the undercover databases," Strickland suggested. "Failing that, witness protection maybe, or security services."

"Right, yes, that would be great, do you want to use my office?" Sandra asked. There was something she couldn't place in his appearance that evening. It was almost as if she was pleased to see him.

~o~

"Yesss!" Brian Lane looked up excitedly from his laptop, his fist clenched in success. His excitement was not shared by his colleagues as they each awoke to his triumphant proclamation.

"What?" Sandra Pullman blinked several times in quick succession as a dozen files slipped from her lap. She lifted her hand and pushed against the hair that had fallen over her forehead. She sighed as consciousness fought for dominance over staying asleep. Her eyes fell to the papers that were scattered at her feet. Urgh, she did not want to have to pick them up. Wait, why were they there? Why was she asleep in the chair anyway? Why were the chairs so damned uncomfortable? She turned her head, stretching her neck. The chairs clearly couldn't be that uncomfortable, her boss, Robert Strickland was still sprawled in his, eyes closed, gently snoring in complete ignorance of Brian's wake-up call. Which is why she was awake now. Forcing the continuation of her waking state, she gently touched her boss' arm and said quite firmly, "Sir?" looking around further, their other colleague was still slumped in slumber over his desk. "Gerry! Brian, what have you found?"

"Geruph?" murmured Gerry Standing as he lifted his head from his desk. "Whsasph chipper fund?" He stared vacantly at the items on the desktop wondering at each of them in bewildered turn. His eyes settled on the deserted coffee mug half-filled with a beverage that may have once been warm but was now covered in a thin film of ice. He shook his head, ice? More like the milk had turned in the time it had been made and left. Why had it been made? They had been late last night, looking over files in the case. When had he fallen asleep? Why had he woken up? Brian. Brian had woken him up. Brian had found something. Brian was talking, moving, excited. Stupid bugger. Pushing against the desk he forced himself to stand and move to where Brian and Sandra were hastily moving papers around and scribbling notes on the boards to the other side of his workstation.

"Should we wake 'im?" Brian paused in his thought as he stepped back from the board.

"So…what?" Sandra was still struggling to maintain the get-up-and-go attitude. Truth be told, she had always struggled with the sudden switches that she had to make between waking and sleeping. Not as much as Gerry did though, she allowed herself to smile; as she watched he was mentally inserting matchsticks to prop open his eyelids. And as much as Gerry was struggling with the abrupt alarm call, as she looked to where Brian was pointing, Robert Strickland clearly had never succeeded in the waking part. It was a sweet picture, his perfect suit crumpled in sleep, stubble forming on his chin, hair no longer in its designated professional look, note book falling from his hand.

"Hurup?" he mumbled as the notebook dropped and his fingers clenched ineffectively at the air where it had been before grunting and shifting slightly.

Stifling a laugh, Gerry moved to the kettle. Brian continued to stare at their superior before Sandra gave him a pointed look which led him back to the job in hand. "So I think we should start by talking to Hallie again."

"Again?" Gerry said exasperatedly. "She's already told us to get stuffed twice!" He retrieved his abandoned mug from his desk and washed it out in the sink.

"Sir," Sandra said quietly, laying a hand on his upper arm. "Sir?"

"Mnmph?" Robert Strickland stirred. There was a hand on his arm, that was different. So was sleeping sitting up. It was a woman's voice too, that … was become less than a usual occurrence. But she called him sir? Oh shit, it was Sandra Pullman's voice. As part of his brain raced in intelligible yells, the rational voice that told him what tie to wear in the mornings and when to get a hair cut quietly and calmly asked why was he sleeping in a chair. They were in the UCOS office, working late. He must have dozed off. How embarrassing. He opened his eyes to see Sandra's piercing blue ones looking tired and amused at him. Amused. Great. He coughed. As if that would restore any dignity. "What have you found?"

He grunted as he sat up. Must have been asleep longer than he thought. Shit.

"Coffee, sir?" Gerry Standing was thinly disguising his amusement.

"We think we've found, well Brian's found a link between Hallie and Harrow…"

"Thank you Gerry, yes," he rubbed his eyes. Sandra was talking. She was telling him what they had found, what Brian had found; she always made sure he knew which of her team had found the missing link. He smiled involuntarily, he'd read her record of course when UCOS had come under his remit, she hadn't always been so circumspect, a glory-hogger who had used both her talent and her wiles to get where she was in rank. That wasn't why he respected her. There were other high-ranking female officers that caught his eye. Most of which had shown the same single-mindedness in getting to where they were. He could almost be sure when they took him to bed that they were trying to use him to further themselves more. He would stretch to breakfast sometimes. But for Sandra Pullman…what he would stretch to for her…

"What do you think, sir?" oh shit.

"Er, yes, Hallie would seem to be the … yes, thank you Gerry," he took the steaming mug that the former DS handed him. "Yes," he cleared his throat. He hated the springing into life after sleeping in a chair. How long had he been asleep, anyway? "You should talk to her again."

"Maybe we'll wait for day to break first, eh?" Gerry coughed. "I'm going for a cigarette."

The coffee was good. Sandra approached him again and sat down. He didn't know how long they had been there for, but the just woke up look suited her. They could solve the case tomorrow, send off to the CPS for the culprits to be decided upon in the next week; but what mattered at that moment to Robert Strickland was that he had spent the night with Sandra Pullman and woken up to her voice.


	12. As The Sun Rises

_As the sun rises_

"What time is it?" Sandra asked as she willed the steaming coffee to awaken her senses and inject caffeine into her system without the actual effort of drinking.

"Five-twenty," Brian supplied as he clicked to print the information he had found to help them finish the case that had kept them in the office after traditional hours, after their traditional Chinese take-out the smell of which still emanated through the office and after their DAC was usually well away from them.

"In the morning?" said DAC responded to the time in a more surprised tone than he actually meant.

"Yes," Brian raised his eyebrows ever so slightly as Sandra looked between the two men over the mist of her coffee.

"I, er, didn't realise we had been here so long," Strickland recovered his composure. "But we have made progress. Brian, you made … yes."

Sandra's gaze was truly fixed upon him now, Brian having returned to his work with a brief shrug and a shake of his head. What did she think of him? He sighed inwardly, she thought what ever other subordinate thought; that he was a nine-to-five pen-pusher. He hadn't joined the force to be a pen-pusher, and he liked to think that he wasn't, not all the time anyway. Wasn't he here now, didn't that prove that? She was still looking at him. "So…"

"So, we'll talk to Hallie first thing," Sandra gave up looking at him, his disorientation was no longer holding her attention. It was cute though. She shouldn't keep assigning words like cute and sweet to Robert Strickland. She had to stop looking at him because he was annoying her. Annoying her because she liked looking at him. "Hopefully we'll be able to close this up tomorrow. Crack Harrow, bring him in."

"Good, yes," Strickland ran a hand over his forehead and through his hair which had knotted as it always did in sleep. Sleep, something that had been lacking in recent months with the arrival of Bella in his life. He sighed. He owed Sandra one for looking after her yesterday. Coming back and helping them was hardly sufficient, he judged, as he had managed to find nothing to help advance their case. It seemed there was nothing he could do for anyone anymore. "I... excuse me."

Sandra watched as he put the mug on the table and lifted his jacket from the back of the chair. He seemed more tired than when he had arrived the previous evening, offering to look through witness protection files and other material that they would have otherwise been unable to access. She supposed it was his way of thanking them for looking after his 'niece' the day before. Even if he hadn't actually found them anything, she could appreciate his effort. She didn't know why, but she had even appreciated his presence. She smiled to herself and returned to her coffee.

"He gone?" Gerry asked as he returned from his wake-up cigarette. "Ah, coffee!"

Brian pointed to the side where he'd left Gerry's coffee. The ex-DS picked up the mug and drew a deep breath of satisfaction. "Well, I suppose having a new baby is tiring, that's the second time in twenty-four hours he's fallen asleep in our office! His new bird must be wearing him out."

Brian raised his eyebrows while Sandra felt a peculiar swell of anger at Gerry's single-minded insistence at her boss' private affairs. What business was it of his, of any of theirs?

"Oh come on, you don't buy all that _it's my niece_ rubbish, do you?" Gerry continued, to Sandra's ire. "He's got himself a new young bird. It's obvious."

"To you maybe," Brian allowed him.

"Oh grow up, the pair of you," Sandra stood up crossly and walked out of the office.

"Eh?" Gerry uttered watching her leave. "What did I say?"

~o~

He wasn't in his office, but along the corridor the door to the fire escape was ajar. She sighed and allowed her feet to lead her through the door and up the stairs to the roof where she found him. He was leaning heavily on the railing, his head lowered as he took in the early morning air. She approached slowly; she didn't know what to say to him, wasn't even sure why she had felt the need to follow him. It annoyed her that while she saw him at his most vulnerable, a man, tired and alone, that the boys made up stories ridiculing his situation.

He took another deep breath of the cool and refreshing dawn. The sun would be rising soon on another day of secrets and lies. He wasn't sure how many more he could take. He was sure however, that he was no longer alone on the roof. Turning his head slightly to the side, he saw Sandra standing slightly back, unsure of how to approach him. He felt weak, vulnerable; and it disgusted him. He was a high-ranking officer, his subordinates shouldn't see him like this. Not even Sandra. But if anyone was to find him like this, he was glad it was her.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I just needed to get some air."

She found herself smiling softly as she took the final few steps toward him and leant beside him on the railing. "It's ok."

The clear, crispness of the breeze, almost imperceptible as it passed around them was tranquil and enlivening after the experience of waking. They stood for several minutes in silence before she spoke again.

"Thank you for coming in last night," she offered a neutral conversation, satisfying a need to interject some utterance into their shared space even though she found herself strangely comfortable being with him without the words that normally came between them.

"That's," he sighed, forming sentences was difficult so early. "You're welcome. I'm sorry I wasn't more help."

She shrugged. "Finding an invisible man, for a while I thought even Brian was going to draw a blank."

He let a small laugh and lifted his head, looking out over the rooftops of London in the lightening day. "Only Brian… Anyway, I still owe you an apology."

"For what?" she asked as his eyes came to meet hers.

"For falling asleep in your office, twice, in twenty-four hours. For forcing you to babysit Bella yesterday."

"You didn't force us," she assured him. "We could easily have said no to you." Though at that moment, she was unsure that she could have said no to him for anything. The way his hair fell unordered over his forehead and his face held that just-woken-up look not washed away with the morning soap, met with the honesty she always saw in his eyes, was a look she was finding very attractive. She was even prepared to listen to the voice in the back of her mind telling her not to ignore that fact at this moment, to take this moment as it was and to see where it would go.

"That's true," he admitted. She looked so beautiful in first light, her hair soft and slightly ruffled; her eyes bright and open to the day; her face gentle and expressive in the early waking before being made for the professional life. Something inside him told him to treasure this moment, to have her forever in his memory like this, not as an officer, not as someone who worked for him, but as she was, in this moment. "I owe you one though."

"I'll hold you to it," she smiled genuinely.

"Perhaps…I could take you to dinner?" he asked with an understated nervousness that she suddenly found devastatingly appealing. "As a thank-you?"

"I'd like that," she found herself replying in such a soft tone that each syllable played a different note in his mind. He smiled and turned back to the city, unable to bear the thought that this might be a dream, though he wasn't sure he'd slept enough in the last months to be able to dream anymore. Well, no dream that didn't culminate in a baby crying.

"You look tired still," she continued after a pause, cursing her inability to let a single moment of perfection pass without her need to get to the bottom of a riddle. She was still half in shock that she had agreed to have dinner with the man beside her, and now she was interrogating him!

He laughed again, one harrumph of glee escaping as his eyes shut against the feeling that he couldn't explain, that someone had noticed. And now that someone had noticed, he could speak. "I am," he admitted. "Bella doesn't exactly quite yet get the whole sleep at night thing."

"So, she's staying with you?" Sandra didn't want to press him, but she could feel that he needed to speak to someone about whatever it was that was going on, and she wanted that someone to be her.

"Yeah," he bowed his head again. He wasn't ashamed. He couldn't be ashamed. Bella's face swam before him, how could he be ashamed of something so beautiful, so perfect?

"She's not your niece, is she?"

"I suppose the boys have concocted an elaborate tale of exotic and forbidden love child?" he said more sharply than he'd meant to, but offered a slight smile as he turned his head to observe her reticent admittance of shame. "She's my granddaughter," he finished, returning his gaze to the rooftops of London in the early light.

She allowed a moment of silence to pass between them as the information sank in. "Granddaughter?" she repeated quietly.

He nodded. "Mia, Hermione, my daughter, she turned up on my doorstep two weeks before Bella was born. Helen's kicked her out apparently. Though it's just as likely that Mia ditched her."

"And you've been looking after them both, all this time?" she wondered aloud, she knew that everyone had their private lives, family secrets, burdens. Nothing might ever be clear cut black and white, good guy and bad guy, but hearing about this side of Strickland that she could never have expected or anticipated pulled at her.

"I could hardly turn her away could I?" he shook his head. "If I didn't know Helen, I'd wonder how she could."

"Why didn't you just tell us?" she frowned at the waking city.

"I don't know," he admitted shamefully. "I suppose I didn't want it to get out that my sixteen year old daughter got pregnant at a party, doesn't know who the father of her child is and … and that it's all my fault because I couldn't provide a stable home for her when she was growing up."

"That's not true," Sandra told him firmly.

"Isn't it? Her mother divorced me. I never spent enough time with the kids, never gave them the kind of life she wanted me to."

"You sent them to private school," she frowned.

"Sandra, you know as well as I do, it's never about the money. Oh, don't get me wrong, she was happy enough to spend it for me. Now she's with some international property tycoon or the like. But, it was never that for me. I know you probably think I'm some toffee-nosed ponce, but I'm not."

"I don't think that," she assured him. "I think," she considered her words. "I think that you're a man who loves his children, who works hard to provide for them, and most importantly is there when they need him."

"But I wasn't there, that's the point," he mumbled.

"That wasn't your fault."

"Wasn't it? Whose was it then?"

"This job isn't easy on anyone," she said thoughtfully. "But as much as you could be, you were there for them. They've never gone cold or hungry. And I know you love them. You could have turned Mia away, sent her back to her mum's or told her to get a place of her own. But you didn't, you took her in."

They spent a long time in silence as the day became brighter around them.

"Thanks Sandra," he said at length. "I'm sorry for … everything."

"Sir?"

"Pouring out my self-pity on you at this time in the morning, lying to you. I owe you one, anything, work or otherwise, I promise," he couldn't meet her eye. He was overcome with a guilt that he'd brought her into his secret, a secret he'd impossibly promised to himself that he wouldn't tell anyone. Though, if he was honest about it, he knew it couldn't have lasted forever.

"That dinner invitation," she said quietly. "Does it still stand?"

He looked at her, surprised, confused, happy; he nodded. "You mean, you wouldn't mind dining with a Grandfather?" raising an eyebrow in flirtatious jest with serious meaning and standing away from the railing.

She shrugged. "I go out for dinner with Gerry all the time. And Little Gerry's nine now." She moved to stand in front of him. "And how about, it's not a thank you, it's just … dinner?"

He lifted one hand in no control of his usual mind and gently brought his fingertips to the skin of her cheek. Here was a woman standing before him who accepted him for what he was, who was beautiful, intelligent and willing to overlook that he was an ageing, lonely man who had lied to her.

The tips of his fingers were cool on her skin; she felt the catch of her lower lip as it brushed against her teeth in an unconscious reaction to the contact. Their eyes were searching each other's faces as she lifted her own hand and rested it against his neck, her thumb tracing the thin line of stubble on his jawline, her fingers stretching toward the back of his neck.

They leant toward each other and allowed their lips to meet as the sun rose on their day.


	13. Complications

_hiya, I'll be honest, I was going to cut this and change it into something a little less ... well anyway, it kinda leads onto a couple of ... yeah, giving it away now, oh, and I haven't forgotten about that other plot-line! Anyway, enjoy!_

_Jessie xx_

* * *

_Complications_

"Where have you been?" Gerry asked as Sandra returned to the office.

"Just, getting some air," she replied elusively, though she agreed with her brain when it told her that being elusive at this time in the morning was far too much effort. "Where's Steve?"

"Behind you," the Scot returned to UCOS looking as worn out. Apparently his inexhaustible energy had at last been sapped, Sandra thought turning around. "We've got a problem."

"Another one?" she asked quickly. The thoughts of what had just happened on the roof were still at the forefront of her mind as she tried to force a professional persona to take over.

"Carson, they've just brought him into the morgue. Hanged himself last night."

"What?" Gerry and Brian looked up from their desks at their exchange.

"He didn't turn up to work, so I went round to his flat, no answer. So I went and saw our friend Thomas, no luck there, though I'm not sure it was his wife I found him with," he raised his eyebrow slightly, receiving a laugh from Gerry and a shrug from Sandra and Brian. "Spent the rest of the night watching Carson's place. No coming or going so I went and had another check at his door. Let myself in; found him hanging from the kitchen ceiling."

"Shit."

~o~

"Right," Sandra sighed over her coffee. She looked at the clock for the tenth time in as many minutes. Having dashed home to check on his family and get a quick change, DAC Strickland had come back in to find himself at the political end of their case and had promised to come down and give them an update of whether they could expect to continue their investigation into Elaine Pearson's murder or whether the case they had barely started to pry at would have to be postponed until the coroner had finished his report on Freddie Carson's suicide. Meanwhile time was dragging and Sandra's mind kept wandering back to the roof. He had been so…gentile. It had been a brief kiss, granted, but one that held promise. She smiled to herself.

"These books are more bent than a clothes-hanger," Brian looked up from his screen to see if anyone was still interested. Even if they weren't pursuing the case, he had started so he would at least finish analysing the records of Friar's restaurant.

"Eh?" Gerry looked up from the racing pages he had digressed to. "Well, what do you expect? James Carson was knocked off for running up debts he couldn't pay. Are we meant to be surprised that the books don't balance either?"

"No," Brian stood up and stretched. "The books do balance, that's what's odd."

"What d'you mean?" Steve queried as he stood up and walked to their cupboard to retrieve a biscuit.

"If you're in trouble, running up debts and so forth, you would expect all those records to still be submitted to the taxman so as to be able to write down as much as possible to lesser your tax bill," Brian explained. "Or not put down at all if those debtors were shall we say, slightly dodgy."

"Which Carson's definitely were," Gerry interjected.

"Yes, but, the books balance perfectly, even show a profit," Brian continued.

"Which means?" Sandra asked.

"So, if he was in debt, and that's what got him killed; it wasn't through the business."

"Nah, you've lost me," Steve admitted offering the ginger nuts around.

"Look," Brian gestured for Steve to come and look at the paperwork over his desk. Gerry and Sandra rose to and all four of them crowded around the papers and books strewn over Brian's usually perfectly ordered desk. "Standard books here, neat and ordered with perfectly accurate figures all with descriptions as to the nature of each …"

Gerry and Sandra exchanged a friendly look of mockery over the heads of the other two men as Brian displayed his clear appreciation of good book-keeping.

"But if these figures are accurate, which we can believe they are as per the booking records, stock-takes and so forth," Brian waved at a stack of other papers precariously balancing on a corner of his workspace. "Then the restaurant was in no financial difficulty."

"So the debts to 'suppliers' and so forth," Steve scratched his head.

"Were personal debts," Gerry finished.

"Exactly," Brian proclaimed proudly.

"That's wonderful Brian," Sandra stared at the figures. "But how exactly does that help us?"

"Ah," Brian shooed them away from his desk and moved toward the cupboard in the corner of the room. "The original investigation assumed that Carson was fiddling his books so that the debtors figured as legitimate debits and credits. Besides they had a hitman who confessed to being hired to reclaim monies borrowed. But, what we now know," he picked at the wrapping of a new packet of wafer fingers. "Is that the business was not in fact in debt. Carson's personal finances were in good order too."

"So why was he killed?" Sandra ran her fingers through her hair.

"And why have you opened another packet of biscuits?" Gerry picked up the ginger nuts and waved them in Brian's direction before taking one out and putting it in his mouth.

"What about Freddie's financial situation?" Steve asked. "Maybes the thugs had the wrong brother. Give us one of those, Gerry."

"Ah-ha," Brian pointed with a wafer as Steve plucked a fresh biscuit from the packet Gerry handed him. "The original team reported that the books confirmed Carson being in debt, but their evidence was based on this," he pulled out yet another sheet of figures. "This statement could just be a stray few days that haven't been logged in the books, or completely bogus."

"Freddie doesn't exactly live at the high end of town," Gerry corroborated. "Maybe he had to borrow some money from Carson for a couple of days. That would explain why it wasn't officially logged in the accounts."

"But where does Elaine fit into this?" Sandra asked, looking around her happily munching team. "Oh wait," she marched over to their case board to stare at the photographs of the Carson brothers and Elaine. "If Elaine was involved with both brothers, maybe Johnson was paid to kill Freddie and his girlfriend but actually killed James and his girlfriend. And now, with Johnson about to get out, knowing he killed the wrong brother…Maybe Freddie didn't commit suicide?"

"And that's when it all gets complicated," Strickland entered the office looking thoroughly bored with his day.

"Good morning, sir," Sandra tore her eyes away from detecting differences between the two now dead brothers. He looked decidedly more refreshed, though harassed by what he had walked into.

"Morning," mumbled the boys in unison.

"Sandra, a word?"

"Course."

She followed him into her office.

"Erm, this connection between Parsons and Hallie, have you had a chance to look into it yet?"

"Not yet, sir, no, we were waiting for confirmation that the case was…" she broke off as he waved his hand, indicating that she ought to move on from bureaucracy. "We think though that maybe Freddie was the target, rather than Jimmy. It looks like Freddie borrowed some money from his brother. Now, if Johnson was hired to kill Elaine and her boyfriend, but got the wrong brother because she was seeing both of them…"

"And now that it's all coming to light, Freddie's got the bullet that was heading for him," Strickland finished for her. "Yes, that's certainly how it's looking upstairs too."

"Have the pathologists said that he was dead before Steve found him?" she asked.

"No, the hanging looks genuine. There was a note, addressed to his mother, saying that he was sorry he could never be the son she wanted."

"Has she been brought in?" Sandra queried.

"No," he sighed. "She died two years ago."

"Right," Sandra replied. Why was it that whenever untangling a knot, it always got more elaborately jumbled before it could be un-scrambled?

"Obviously I can't just sign the Freddie Carson case over to UCOS, so I'm going to stick with them – "

"You are?" she didn't mean to sound so surprised.

"After last night," he offered a small smile. "I think I'm up to speed on where you're at."

"Of course, sir, sorry," she bit her tongue.

"I'll liaise with the current investigation, meanwhile send Brian and Steve to speak to Hallie and you and Gerry bring Parsons in."

"Parsons?"

"There's uniform back-up if you need it," he assured her as he left.

~o~

"Hello again, Mr. Lane," Hallie Richards smiled broadly, looking up as the front door to her restaurant opened. "Ok, that's fine, just check with the kitchen and I'll put the orders through after I've spoken to these gentlemen," she dismissed the lad she had been talking to and walked over to where Brian and Steve stood in the entrance.

"Hello Hallie," Brian greeted her. "You've a good head for faces and names."

"Comes with the territory," she waved a hand behind her. "Customers like to think I know who they are, sometimes I do actually remember them, so I can use their names."

"What makes you remember them?" Steve asked curiously.

"Whether or not their nice people," she suggested before holding a hand out to Steve. "Hallie Richards, but you probably already know that. What can I do for you?"

"I'm quite well informed, Steve McAndrews," he replied in kind. Brian had been right, she was a nice girl. "We need to ask about this man," he held out a printed picture of former DCI Parsons.

"Well, it looks like Bobby Harrow," she looked at the picture. "Hang on a sec, take a seat."

Brian and Steve obediently sat on the leather sofa. "So, Sandra, this morning?" Steve asked of Brian. "Gerry said she disappeared with Strickland for a while, after she'd given you both the evils for making fun of him."

"Did he?" Brian responded vaguely.

"Come on, Brian," Steve nudged him. "Is there something between them?"

"What, Gerry and Sandra?" Brian scoffed cagily.

Steve sighed. "I do like to know something about the people I work for," he looked at Brian, unable to read his face.

Brian opted for remaining silent. If Sandra had been a little distracted after her disappearance that morning; if she had used the same 'getting some air' excuse for her absence as Strickland had used to leave them; he was determined not to notice; and certainly he was not about to speculate with Steve of all people.

"Here we go," Hallie said returning with a framed photograph. "This was taken a few months ago after the refurbishment. It went in the local paper. But that's Bobby. Have you got your photograph again?"

"There," Steve stood up and held the two pictures alongside each other. The photograph that Hallie had framed was the same picture that Brian had found with a search of the Internet with the name Bobby Harrow.

"That's definitely him," Brian agreed as Steve fished his mobile phone from his pocket. "Hallie, this man is not Bobby Harrow. Or rather, he might be, but he's also former DCI Simon Parsons."

"Elaine's father?" Hallie asked.

Brian nodded. "Now, can you tell me anything that you know about this man?"

"Not much," she admitted. "Erm, I haven't seen him since the refurbishment. He took some of the old furniture and that to his lock up."

"His lock-up?" Brian queried.

"Yes, he's got a garage somewhere that he doesn't use, so offered to store some stuff for us."

"Have you got an address for it?" Brian asked urgently.

"Yes, and a key, I think, it's in the office, just give me a minute."

~o~

"Hello again Mr. Parsons," Sandra said as the door opened. "We'd like to ask you a few more questions."

"Oh, right," the man replied. There was an edge to his tone that Sandra and Gerry well recognised. "Erm, come in."

"Thank you," they followed him into the house, Gerry closing the door behind him.

"So, how can I help?"

"Well," Sandra took the lead. "I know you told us that you didn't have much to do with Elaine's work at the restaurant, but I wondered if you knew anything about the two partners? Gene Richards was one of them, his daughter now runs the restaurant."

"Er, no, can't say I remember him," Parsons said carefully.

"The other is Bobby Harrow," Gerry told him coolly. "Ring any bells?"

"No, I don't think so," Parsons could have been an ice-cube.

"Would you care to accompany us to the station, Mr. Parsons?" Sandra asked neutrally.

"It's just that we think you do know Mr. Harrow," Gerry continued. "We did have a picture of him, but, silly old us, must have left it back at the station."

"Right," Parsons replied with the air of a man trying to think of a really good excuse but then failing and relenting. "Well, I, erm, I'll need to put some shoes on."

Sandra and Gerry both turned their attention to his very much shoed feet as they turned and took him out of the room. Seconds later they heard the front door slam shut behind him. They followed his path and watched as he ran down the road as Gerry's phone began to ring in his pocket.

"Take the car," she said, thrusting her handbag at him and setting off on foot after the man.

Dashing down the steps to the car, which she'd left unlocked, anticipating Parsons' reaction, he answered his phone. "Hiya, Steve? Yeah? Garage? Have you got an address? Yeah? Ok? Well he might be heading there now… yeah, set off at a run, the guv'nor's following 'im. Listen, get that address back to Strickland, have him send a greeting party. Gotta go!"

~o~

Sandra had to admit she was impressed with the man's pace as she struggled to keep up as he turned down one street then another, where the hell was he going? Unfortunately, she thought, this didn't really count as evading or resisting arrest as she hadn't got as far as trying to arrest him. And this road was a dead end. With an alley way at the end of it. She dashed down the narrow passage and came out at the top of a grassy hill. Looking down, she saw Parsons unlocking a door at the back of a block of garages. Thanking the stars that she had flat shoes on that day and wondering what he kept in a garage so far from his house that was suddenly so urgent for him to get to, she set off at a reasonable pace down the grassy verge as she watched her quarry disappear inside the concrete block.

~o~

"Ok, yes, thanks Steve, yes, got that, we're on our way," Strickland looked up at the, if he was honest, less than impressive team in front of him including their very unimpressed-that-the-DAC-was-there senior officer. "Kent Street garages," he said shortly. "Come on!"

~o~

"Hello again DS Pullman," Parsons hadn't quite got his breath back, but he managed to take Sandra's away as he stood in the dimmed light of the garage pointing a handgun at her. The boxed and sofa-shaped contents of the rest of the lock-up was suddenly very uninteresting to her. She swallowed as she tried to regain oxygen and composure. She was willing to give evens on the gun he was holding being a) loaded and b) the gun that had killed Elaine.

"Hello Simon," she said quietly. "Can we talk?"

The sound of cars pulling up on the other side of the block quickened his answer, "No, I don't think so."

Aiming slightly away from her, he fired a shot and set off past her, pushing her into a pile of chairs that had formerly resided in Friar's Restaurant and making it out of the door as the fuse box he had caught with his bullet exploded.


	14. Changing Favours

_Changing Favours_

"Sandra? Sandra? Can you hear me? Sandra? It's…it's Rob. Sandra?"

Slowly her eyes opened, bright blue orbs filled with fear mirroring his own. He swallowed and remembered to breathe. "Sandra?"

"Sir," she mumbled, fragments of recent events flashing around the forefront of her mind, too confused to make sense of much.

"Ssh, slowly," he helped her slowly to sit up and beckoned for the paramedics to come forward. He shifted his weight to stand but stopped when he realised that her hand was tightly clasped around his. As the paramedics checked her for injury and took her pulse, he lifted his free hand to draw the hair that had fallen into her face away and tucked it gently behind her ear. His breathing was fast and shallow, barely believing that this was happening.

"Ok?" the paramedic asked.

She nodded, allowing the paramedic to take one arm while Strickland supported her from the other side and pull her to her feet. She realised with a shock that she was shaking. She swallowed, trying to lubricate her throat and come up with some witty and incisive remark to mark the irony of the situation, but failed. The paramedic released his tight grip on her but Strickland refused to loosen his hold. She found she was grateful if this and allowed her superior to lead her out of the garage.

Gerry threw the last of his cigarette on the ground and stamped angrily on the residual embers. He cast an exasperated look around his surroundings; the marked cars, the ambulance, his own Stag with its drivers door still open, Brian standing in shocked silence, Steve talking to one of the uniformed officers who was like them waiting on a report back from the station. He shook his head and drew another cigarette from the packet in his coat pocket. He had been ready to go in when the door had swung open following the explosion of the fuses; Brian had held him back, he and Steve arriving alongside the liveried cavalry just seconds after him and before the sound that had told him that Parsons and Sandra were indeed inside the garage. Strickland had ran in though, he thought bitterly as he brought the lighters flame to the tip of the fag. He had barely encouraged the fire to catch as he saw the paramedics in their fluorescent jackets emerging from the wreckage of the lock-up followed by Sandra and Strickland. He glanced at Brian and the two of them moved forward to greet their boss.

"Sandra?" Gerry asked gently, noting how her hair was dirty and sticking to her head, how her clothes were dishevelled, how pale she looked, how she was leaning on Strickland, relying on him to keep her up in the face of the outside world. But she was still Sandra.

"How do?" Brian said quietly, sensing her reluctance to admit even to herself how much she was putting on a show of being able to stand on her own feet.

"Hello boys," she looked into both of their anxious faces and offered them a weak smile, she hated appearing vulnerable in front of them in any way, not least because of the heart-wrenching concern that resulted in their expressions. "Did we get the bugger?"

Gerry and Brian looked at each other. Sandra looked at Strickland, her fury giving her the strength to break free of his support and stare angrily at him. "You are kidding me?"

"Sandra," he said firmly. "Let's just get you checked out, yeah? We can start apportioning blame later."

"Yeah, and I know who I'm going to," Gerry spat, turning his head to see DCI Thomas standing uselessly in the background.

"Alright, Gerry," Strickland sounded exhausted. "Just, you, Brian and Steve get back to UCOS, go over everything you've got. Anywhere he might have gone."

"What so we can hand it over to 'im?" Brian asked sedately enough, but none present missed the biting edge of his meaning, frustrated at having allowed Sandra in danger and still relieved to see her alright, he was less than impressed with the idea that they now were handing their prey to a copper who had proved incompetent and lazy in the past.

"No, so that we can nail the bastard in the morning," Strickland said sharply, surprising all of them before grasping back hold of Sandra's arm. "Come on."

Brian and Gerry watched as he led their boss to the waiting ambulance, making her enter the back of it and following her in.

"Well," Steve rejoined them. "Uniform are on a door-to-door, the whole area's being covered, he won't get far."

"Right," Gerry muttered.

"Is the Guv alrigh'?"

"Yeah," Gerry grunted.

"He's not going far," Brian stated in a tone of astonishment. "Come on Gerry, you still got that address?"

"What address?" Steve asked.

"Steve, get back to UCOS," Brian instructed him. "Get everything ready for questioning Parsons. And, Steve?"

"Yes?"

"Pick up a fresh pint of milk."

Gerry let out a grunt of laughter at his feet. Brian had managed to get one over on Steve whilst accepting his continuing presence in their office by initiating him into the housekeeping.

"Gotcha," Steve fished in his pocket for his car keys. "I'll see yous later."

"Gerry," Brian pushed the amused Gerry toward his car. "Come on!"

~o~

While he waited to be allowed to see her, Strickland made three phone calls. The first was to Gerry, assuring him that Sandra was ok and her admittance to hospital was merely routine. The second was to the political arse he'd been meant to meet with that afternoon, putting off the meeting to another day. The third was to the appropriate channels to have DCI Thomas in his office first thing in the morning; he'd been infuriated with the man's attitude from the moment that he'd become involved with the case and was sure that he still needed to respond to the admin memo requesting an officer to lead some career talks at the local schools.

"Sir?" a young nurse was standing in front of him.

"Er, yes?"

"You can see her now."

"Thank you," he stood up, tucking his mobile back into his pocket.

Sandra was sitting up in the bed looking healthier if still tired and a little embarrassed.

"Hi," he said softly as he entered the room and let the door close behind him. "You ok?"

"Hi," she replied with a quiet smile.

"They, um, they said you can go?"

"Sort of," the smile slipped from her lips. "Have they caught Parsons?"

"Yeah, Gerry and Brian found him at the flat where Thomas found Johnson."

"He had a gun!" she started up in the bed.

"Hey, ssh," he covered the few feet to her side and placed a firm hand on her shoulder. "It's ok, they're both fine. He came relatively quietly, according to Gerry, after Brian told him they were both armed and were very pissed off that they'd heard he'd shot at you."

She smiled, resourceful to a fault her boys, if a trifle imaginative with the truth.

"So, you don't need to worry about them. What have they said to you?"

"Who? Oh, erm, their just waiting for the results of a couple of tests, then, I should be able to go."

"Right, do you want me to stay?"

She looked up at him. His hand was still on her shoulder, though bearing less weight than it had been when he'd been encouraging her not to leave the bed and go chasing after her wayward department. His question meant something to her, something that no question had in more years than she could count. Neither Gerry nor Brian would have asked, if it had been them standing there. They'd have waited, maybe, but they wouldn't have asked. His eyes once again drew her attention with their frank honesty. She nodded. Beyond her immediate self-control she lifted a hand and covered his fingers with her own.

~o~

"Shut up yer Scottish bastard!"

Parsons practically jumped out of his seat, if it hadn't been for the firm grip of his brief, Gerry could easily imagine him leaping over the table at Brian and Steve.

"Oh wait, no I don't think I will," Steve returned. "See that's it isn't it, you danna like the scots, ya danna like people are different. See, James was a successful business man, Freddie was a successful car dealer. Any man would be glad to see his daughter set up with either of them. But not you, because they were black."

"I ain't got nothing against blacks," Parsons spat in contempt and sank back into his seat.

"Your wife," Brian probed subtly in opposition to Steve's forthright attack. "Did she leave you for a black man?"

Gerry frowned in the observation room. He couldn't remember the specifics of the Parsons family history, but was impressed as he always was with Brian's ability to find the smallest details.

"No!" Parsons was ready to spring from his chair again while once more his silent brief grabbed his arm and pulled him back to a seating position. Suddenly weary, Parsons eyed Brian and Steve before giving in and saying quietly: "I did it for Moira."

"Freddie and James' mother?" Brian made the connection which Parsons confirmed with a nod.

"Elaine was tearing them apart," he murmured. "It had to end. She hated it. And, I guess it all got out of hand. I thought it could look like Freddie had done it, out of jealously," he sighed. "But, affairs and … Elaine saw what it had done to our marriage, mine and her mother's… I … I couldn't … I paid Johnson to shoot Jimmy. And Elaine. My daughter was tearing apart another family. How could she?"

~o~

"Ok, thanks Gerry. Get his statement taken, he'll have to wait 'til morning to be charged. Erm, just get everything tidy and then call it a day, eh? I'll get her home and that, no, don't worry. Sure, I'll pass it on. Thanks, Gerry, Bye."

Strickland sighed and dropped his phone back into his pocket. He looked back as the door to Sandra's room opened and the doctor emerged and disappeared down the corridor. Assuming this now meant he could go back in (though he had only left to answer his phone), he pushed at the handle and re-admitted himself to the room.

"Everything ok?" he asked.

"Er, yes," she replied quietly. "Oh, all the tests, everything's fine," she added quickly seeing the shades of concern flit across his face. "It's just… that favour?"

"We can do dinner another night if you're not feeling up to it," Rob assured her with a playful edge.

Sandra felt suddenly more vulnerable than she had at any other point of that day. She shook her head and offered a muted smile. "It's just, they want to keep me in, for observation, they'd let me go, apparently, but there's no-one at home…" she trailed off. She wasn't good at asking for help. This morning, turning his favour into a date had given them both a strength. Strength and courage that she now found had left her as she found herself alone and asking for his help.

"Ok," he said immediately. "I'll go and have a word." It scared him as he saw her suddenly as a vulnerable, lonely, person who needed his help. Even if all she wanted was for him to tell a small lie so that she could get to a place where she felt a little more …her. He wondered though, if that was all she wanted. He knew, he was sure, that it was all she was asking. But he wanted to do more. He returned to her side. She had given him strength that morning, strength and courage to step the line and offer more than she was asking, though he was sure too, less than she needed. "And then, if you wanted, you could come home with me."

She opened her mouth to protest automatically.

"If the doctors don't think that you should be on your own, then I'm apt to agree with them. Besides," he leant down and placed a very gentle, unassuming kiss on her forehead. "I do a mean beans on toast."


	15. The Silver Watch

_Hiya, just a quick word to say thanks for all the support for this story! the reviews and favourites make me smile everytime i open my emails! So, we're on the final leg of this story now that the case is solved, without wanting to get too soppy, it's now a lot more character centred. However, I'll apologise for what ensues, I hope it's ok and with the weight it deserves, tried re-writing it a couple of times then settled on the first drafting (of the last paragraph, honestly, all this waffle does make sense!). Hope you enjoy!_

_Jessie xx_

* * *

_The Silver Watch_

"Can I ask you a question?" Rob Strickland turned as he finished putting away the crockery from the promised beans on toast dinner that he had cooked for them in the cupboards of the kitchenette of his flat and looked at Sandra sitting on one of the tall stools at his breakfast bar. They had dropped by at her house so that she could shower and pick up some fresh clothes and she was looking more refreshed and surprisingly relaxed in his home. He'd convinced Hermione to stay at his sister's that night with Bella; she hadn't been over the knot about it but had relented with the promise of a shopping trip that weekend.

"Sure," she smiled. He'd offered to produce something more impressive than beans on toast, but she had assured him that it was, weirdly, precisely what she fancied. She felt oddly at ease in his home, it was a well-kept flat with a welcoming feel; more so than her own home could have offered her that evening. He seemed strangely nervous of his question as he hesitated in posing it. Though, she reasoned, this wasn't their normal situation by any stretch of the imagination.

"When was the last time you let someone take care of you? Hold you?"

If she'd been expecting any curve-ball to their evening, it hadn't been that. He had enough courage not to shy away from the question though, that was something. Their relationship had changed in the last twelve hours, from the moment she'd sought him out on the roof, to his staying with her and bringing her to his home. It was as though they'd both allowed a glimmer of light into their lives. No idle curiosity was lingering in his words, it was thought out and she doubted it had just occurred to him, but there was a sincerity in his meaning, the honesty she saw in his eyes every time she looked at them. She didn't let people take care of her; _I don't rely on anyone, _she'd once said those words to her mother, and she'd meant them with the pride they carried. It wasn't a regret that there wasn't anyone in her life, the boys looked out for her, but she wouldn't let even them take care of her for very long outside of their professional arena. They were friends, probably the truest she'd ever known. And there was Jack. Had been Jack, she corrected herself. And there had been brief liaisons as long as she had known, usually with complications of their own which happily meant that she was never dependant on any of them. The footnote to his question betrayed a deeper implication, she'd never let anyone hold her, not the way he meant. She met his eye and realised something more profound than she'd been expecting too. Acknowledging this, she tried to inject a lighter tone to her response but even as she said it, she knew that he would hear more. She also knew though, that for probably the first time, she wanted him to.

"Maybe," she replied softly. "I've just been waiting for the right pair of arms."

It was flirty, succinct, inviting and impossible to resist. The silent plea, the neat response, the awkward cliché and heartening desire might have stopped him from approaching another woman. But this was Sandra.

"Come on," he said, struggling to harness his complete emotion and holding out a glass of orange juice, he nodded toward the sofa.

She sat obediently on the farthest seat of the three-seater sofa, while he hesitated for a second before choosing to sit in the middle. Placing their drinks on the polished coffee table, he turned slightly to look at her. Responding to a long-forgotten process, she lifted her legs and lay them across his lap; he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and tenderly pulled her closer to him; she rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes. Unconsciously, she relaxed and allowed him to hold her. Her head was swimming with incoherent thoughts, but one over-awing conclusion: she felt safe.

"Ok?" he whispered, the tenor of his voice slightly rough with an uncertain energy.

She looked at him with a child-like wonder, "Yeah," she whispered. She felt safe and strong again. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," he replied, lifting his free hand to carefully stroke the loose strands of hair across her temple. He felt a kind of serene gratitude to her for allowing him to care for her that evening.

"Do you prefer Rob or Robbie?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

"Well, Robbie is the name of a DCI Lewis who is, I believe, on the telly, right about now," he leant across to the arm of the sofa and picked up the remote. "What?" he asked in response to her smile.

"You watch detective shows?" she asked incredulously.

"Why?"

"Nothing, Brian says they're silly," she observed, resting her head back against his chest. Smiling, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head and switched on the television.

~o~

Sandra was fast asleep by the time the programme finished. Not wanting to disturb her just yet, he carefully lay her on the sofa while he extricated himself to check the bedroom. He'd asked Mia to change the sheets when he'd rang her that afternoon, which he was pleased to see that despite her protestations, she had. He visited the bathroom before checking that the front door was locked. His jacket was still hanging over one of the stools in his kitchen area, lifting it to hang on the hooks by the door, he fished out his phone and checked that there were no messages or missed calls from his sister demanding that Mia be collected, hanged, drawn and quartered: there were none. So he dialled her number and checked that all was well.

"Ok, well, say goodnight to Bella for me," he could see Sandra starting to stir on the sofa. "I'll see you in the morning love, goodnight," Rob hung up on his daughter and plugged his phone onto charge with the cable he kept by the table which held his car, house and office keys and returned to the sofa. He knelt by Sandra's head and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Sandra? Sandra?"

"Mmm?" she opened her eyes and for only the briefest second was confused by what she saw before her lips turned a smile.

"Do you want to go to bed?" he asked without thinking and then quickly back-tracking over his insinuation. "I mean… what I mean is, I didn't mean for you to sleep on the sofa. I meant for me to sleep on the sofa."

He cringed, but she only smiled wider.

"You can sleep on the sofa," she agreed, shifting slightly.

"Sandra?" he queried seriously, suddenly scared that this wasn't right, that he might be taking advantage.

"You said you didn't want me to be on my own," she reminded him equally as seriously. The terror of moments slipping past like the markings on the road gripped her, but the same resolve to seize such moments that had taken her that morning coupled with the comforting memory of falling asleep in his arms, steeled her to want him to believe that she … needed him.

He searched her face for any indication that they would regret today tomorrow, but satisfied that for the time being he only saw a desire that matched his own for giving each other this evening of comfort and security, he slipped off his shoes and positioned himself against the back of the sofa while she turned to lie facing him in his arms.

As she snuggled into his chest, relishing in an emotion she couldn't put into words, he grinned, "This really wasn't what I had in mind," he reiterated.

"It's your fault for having such a sleep-able sofa," she murmured.

"Well, I'll admit when I was choosing a sofa for furnishing the ol' batchelor pad, this sofa did win out with its impressive sleepability factor," he returned with a playful whisper. If anyone had told him yesterday, or even three hours ago that he'd be lying on his sofa with Sandra Pullman in his arms, he'd have thought them mad. Yet, here they were, discussing the sleepable qualities of his furniture while she laughed softly into his chest.

"I like it when you do that," he admitted without meaning to.

She leant back and looked at him. "I like it when you whisper," she offered, quietly fighting against the doubts and fears she knew were still there.

"I like it when you look at me like that," his voice catching in his throat at the enormity of the confession he had made.

"Like what?"

He took a breath as he touched her cheek, his fingertips light as the weight of the wind.

"Like you see me."

She wrapped her arm under his and behind his shoulder, pulling him closer to her and kissing him. No words would translate so perfectly the tenderness of her kiss, a connection made to express something not quite yet known, to assure that that something was something that could be known, if they allowed it to be.

"Thank you for letting me in," she said softly, playing with the tufts of greying hair behind his ears.

He kissed her, closing his eyes and treasuring the taste of her lips. "The doctor's did say you might have concussion," he reminded her.

She frowned, tears suddenly forming behind her eyes. "That's not what I meant," she said.

"No, it's not what I meant either," he crossed himself.

The moment that passed between them as they studied each other in the dimmed light of his living room seemed as long as the time they had known each other, yet as brief as the time it took them to answer the question that they both asked themselves. He brushed his lips against hers once more to question her, she responded by caressing his. They allowed no further moment to slip past in unseeing hurry, the sleepablity of the sofa forgotten, they embraced the comfort and strength that they had found within one another and explored that which had seemed so impossible to know but in that moment, was all they needed.

~o~

He settled in the armchair which afforded him a sea-view over the cliff-top. He had decided to leave the shutters open, allowing a fresh circulation of air touched with the salt of the sea to surround him. All the preparations had been made, including the entrusting of three small packages to the postal service that afternoon. He had not taken many possessions with him and those he had were parcelled neatly in boxes addressed to the local church behind him, where he could not see them. He had sold the house contents and all and so all the material possessions he had were now behind him; the only exceptions he had allowed were his old police badge and Mary's silver watch. Mary was by his side, her ashes waiting to be joined with his. He placed the watch and badge on the table beside the urn and picked up the medicine. His evening dose and every other he had managed to save for the last few weeks. This was how he wanted it to be now, as he looked out at the sea and lifted Mary's watch, running his old fingers over its smooth glass face. This was how it would end.


	16. Alright

_ok, so the home straight is getting away from me, so as we race to the finish, i want to thank everyone for reading, i hope you've enjoyed it!_

_Jessie xx_

* * *

_Alright_

Sandra made her way to the UCOS lair the following morning in a strange state of serenity. She looked around the uncommonly tidy office as she arrived and smiled. Rob had told her that he'd recommended the boys knock off early after Parsons' confession; she was grateful that they'd taken the time to recreate the readiness of their area for the next case. The boards were clean, case files closed and piled on the table that constituted as Steve's desk ready to be filed. The report of the case was neatly typed and waiting for her to sign it. She put her handbag on the red sofa and walked around to pick up the headed stationary.

"Morning Guv," Steve greeted her as he and Gerry arrived. "You ok?"

"Yes, thank you Steve," she replied smiling. "Hi Gerry."

"Morning," Gerry responded. "Coffee?"

"Mmm, yes, thank you," she looked up to see his concerned face and proffered a nod to his unasked question. He cared about her, she knew he did, but she was alright.

"Parsons is ready to be charged?" she asked sitting down opposite Steve.

"Ay, all the paperwork's done," the Scot replied. "Just the formalities."

"I see," she said. "Thank you. The office looks wonderful."

"It won't last," Steve sighed. "I don't know how you put up with these two and their housekeeping!"

"She puts up with us, we put up with her," Brian grinned as he entered the offices, bike in tow. "Morning Sandra, how are you feeling?"

"Fine thank you, good morning Brian," Sandra felt better than she had in a long time, she realised. For the first time since Jack had left, everything seemed to be right.

"Course she's alright," Gerry joined playfully. "She's had Mr. Strickland looking after her!"

She rolled her eyes. "Shut up Gerry!"

They laughed together. Yes, she agreed silently with herself, for the first time in four months, everything was finally ok again.

~o~

"I am sorry," Parsons said after they had gone through the formalities of charging him. "For pointing a gun at you."

Sandra nodded. She wasn't about to thank the man for being the catalyst for her spending the night with Rob Strickland and wasn't about to think any less of him for killing his own daughter, but she appreciated the apology. Leaving the interview room, her and Brian walked back to the UCOS main office where they had entrusted Steve and Gerry with preparing for their next case which had ironically previously been investigated by DCI Thomas with no success.

"I heard about your theatrics yesterday," she told him.

"Ay?" he responded. "A little white lie. Well, except the bit about being annoyed that he'd shot at you."

She stopped and caringly placed a hand on his arm to pause him also. "I know I don't tell you this enough, but it really does mean a lot to me that you and Gerry are my friends."

He nodded once. He knew that something had changed since Jack had left. He'd felt isolated from them both. Gerry, because he'd made such a quick friendship with Steve; but then Gerry was a very open character, judging quickly and following his feelings instinctively. Sandra, because he'd put that distance back between them. Both of them because of the secret he'd been holding from them. Jack's secret. But, he smiled and they continued their journey, that didn't mean that everything couldn't be alright.

~o~

"Give it back!" Gerry moaned loudly as Sandra and Brian returned. They quickly looked to where Steve was on the opposite side of the office, holding Gerry's phone above his head.

"Oh for goodness sake," Sandra hissed under her breath but grinning like a Cheshire cat to see them playing like school-boys. She sat down opposite the newly decorated white board and started to read the notes.

"Morning all," DCI Thomas said as he entered the offices, his eyes instantly drawn to Gerry practically wrestling Steve to retrieve his phone. "DAC Strickland asked me to come down and run through the original investigation with you."

Steve relented to Gerry's final assault and fixed the grey-haired copper with a look of contempt. Gerry checked quickly that Steve hadn't in fact sent his ex-wife any message, particularly none involving stupid pictures of ducks and joined his newest colleague in disrespecting their visitor whose involvement in their previous case had completely been to blame for putting Sandra in danger. Brian scowled over his computer, while Sandra nodded and indicated the board in front of her. "Whenever you're ready," she invited him coolly.

"Right, well I'll be quick," he assured them with little feeling. "I've got to give a careers talk to some sixth-formers in an hour."

~o~

"This isn't going to be pretty," Sandra sighed as she and Steve pulled up outside the address of the former chief-suspect in the case. "Politics aside, this is going to open a whole lot of cans of worms."

"With all due respect," Steve said as he got out of the car and looked at her across the roof. "We're here to do a job. I mean, do we do it properly, or just make it look nice?"

Her fingers found the button and pushed it to make the Saab flash its indicators in confirmation that it was locked while she herself was unable to take her eyes from the man whose words were just registering in her brain.

"What?" he asked, his brow creasing in confusion. "It's a perfectly legitimate question!"

"It is," she nodded quietly. "And it's just the thing that Jack would say."

~o~

Rob Strickland tripped lightly down the stairs to UCOS that afternoon, he wanted to check on the progression of their new case, and also ask Sandra if she'd like to go for dinner that evening. He didn't want to push anything on her, in case she got the wrong idea, or in case he had. He frowned as he entered the main room to see Brian and Gerry both sitting at their desks staring into space. They were so intent on whatever new game they were playing that they didn't register his arrival. He had to break their reveries by clearing his throat, something that he didn't like to do if he could help it, but he reminded himself he did have a purpose in being there after all.

"Oh, g'afternoon', Sir," Gerry mumbled hardly moving his eyes to see the DAC standing there.

"Sir," Brian's voice was barely above a whisper.

Strickland shook his head slightly in disbelief, the morbid silence was a little too much for him. If he was honest, he didn't particularly like coming to their office when Sandra wasn't there to spar with; their relationship had always been tempestuous at best, but he had always enjoyed it. "Is DS Pullman in?" he asked.

The boys responded by not responding. Each lost once again in their own thoughts.

"Gerry?" he asked again sharply. "DS Pullman?"

"Wha'?" Gerry sat up slightly. "Oh, no she's out with Steve, something about a dog."

Strickland watched in exasperated amazement as Standing slumped back into his former position after imparting this information. He looked again at Brian, who hadn't moved since he had entered the room. "Now, that's something I would expect you to say, Brian," he smiled at the ex-inspector to no avail. Any other department he would have left a message saying he'd come back later by now, however infuriated he would have been with the lack of response. Mind you, any other department would have fawned over him and given him an answer straight away. A straight answer at that. As much as he hated to admit it, he liked UCOS because they weren't like any other department: they were themselves, individuals. Sandra had been wasted here, he knew that. Yes, mistakes had been made but she had redeemed herself and had been offered impressive promotions that she had turned down, choosing to see out her career in the department that had first been punishment and then became her home. Jack, Gerry, Brian and Steve too had taken to the job to escape retirement, to feel useful again and to make a few bob; but he knew it wasn't the paychecks that made them come in each day, it was the team. Other departments he had to check on daily, making sure that all their many cogs were fitted properly and the belts hadn't slipped off their runners in the night. UCOS just got on with the job; and even managed to enjoy it. Now, for some reason it seemed, the tiller had become loose. He observed them both again; "Look, I just wanted to come down and check on the new case, how's it going?"

His optimistic and rallying tone lifted Brian's head for a second before it returned to its sullen position.

"Brian, Gerry," he was almost at a loss to explain the uncharacteristically morose behaviour.

"It's Jack," Gerry supplied eventually, pausing before elaborating. "Jack's dead."

"What?" Strickland wasn't sure if he'd mis-heard or just missed entirely what Standing had said.

"Jack's died," Brian repeated for the benefit of the DAC and to make the situation more real to himself and Gerry also.

"Jack retired to France," Strickland said, grasping at the reality that was just sinking in for the two men. "He only went a few months ago, and he didn't leave any contact, how, how do you know?"

There followed a long pause before Brian started to speak, finally breaking the silence he had been maintaining for four months. "He didn't just retire," Brian spoke quietly, without meeting either man's eye. "He found out he had cancer. He didn't want anyone to know."

Gerry raised his eyes and fixed them on his friend. He found he wasn't angry. If Jack would have told any of them, it would have been Brian. And if he hadn't wanted anyone to know, well that sounded about right.

"He went to France to a place where he and Mary had always thought about moving. He went to be with her. Told us not to tell anyone or try and contact him or anything."

"But you did?" Strickland's voice was low, not accusing but needing to know.

"No," Brian's voice betrayed no sense of emotion; it was as if he had been calmly introducing a case. "Jack gave this number to his neighbour with the instructions to call me only when…only when…" Brian trailed off, his voice now broken with an emotion he couldn't place.

"When he died?" Strickland supplied unnecessarily but Brian nodded anyway.

"Jack was the reason we're here," Brian continued in the same disillusioned tone as before. "It was him who picked us, Gerry and me, convinced Sandra to let us in the squad. He's probably the reason she's stayed as long as she has, why she's put up with us so long …"

"We need to tell 'er," Gerry's voice was cracked, erratic. "She needs to know."

At that moment the doors to UCOS opened once more. All three men turned to see Sandra and Steve return, the smiles they had been wearing in response to whatever joke they had been sharing before entering the offices falling fast as they saw the three men with ashen faces greeting them. Strickland thought quickly, his eyes travelling as quickly as he dared let them away from Sandra's face which he knew would soon show only heartbreak and focusing on Steve.

"Steve, can I have a quick word?" he asked, moving toward the man and indicating that they should exit the room. "Just about your contract," he added in response to the man's confused expression.

Sandra eyed her two friends with caution as the door closed behind her. Together, they had stood while Strickland had redirected Steve. The silence that they held between them scared her and suddenly she realised that nothing was quite alright anymore.

"Jack?"


	17. Go Home

_Go Home_

She was staring into space, she had been for ages, she didn't know how long.

Gerry and Brian had confirmed what she'd known from the melancholy shock on their faces. He was gone. Dead. She'd held it together just long enough for Brian to explain the telephone call from Jack's neighbour; long enough for him to admit that he'd known the entire four months that they'd been more to Jack's retirement than he had let them know. How could he have kept that secret? Why had Jack told him? Why not her? Hadn't she always been there for him? Hadn't she loved him too? She was angry, angry at Brian, angry at Gerry, angry at Jack, angry at herself. She'd held it together until she'd looked at their faces again. Gerry; with an expression of pure helplessness, ready to comfort her, ready to be the one for her to shout at, but not ready. Brian; sorrow etched on every line of his visage, but not knowing. How could he know? How could he have known for all this time and not said anything? She knew deep within herself that she wasn't angry at any of them, not entirely. She should have been ready for this. Should have seen it coming. She should have known, damn it! Wasn't she a detective, one of the best in her field? Hell, she could read guilt at twenty paces! She knew, she told herself, she'd known there was more to it, the only reason she hadn't pried was because she hadn't wanted to know: he hadn't wanted her to know. The man she'd loved as a father, a mentor, a friend. She'd stood there; they'd stood there; one moment in time, frozen forever as her heart broke.

Her head rested against the window frame.

Gerry's hand had twitched to move, one eighth of an inch too much for her to bear. The thoughts, reproaches, fear; raced around in the forefront of her mind, each emotion toppling over the last to get the spotlight, the attention it craved, needed. One of them had said her name, quietly, fearfully, pitifully, openly, softly.

"Ok," she'd whispered. Looking up, neither moved. "Go home," she'd continued softly, dangerously, forcefully. She'd turned and walked out of the room as quickly as she could. Climbing stairs and turning corridors not knowing where she was heading, a dim thought about finding her way to the roof where the air was cold and would wrap her in a freezing blanket to stop all other feeling hitting her was stunted when she met with an oblivious crowd of people at the end of a corridor, so she'd ducked into the first doorway, the empty conference room she found herself alone in now.

If she could feel the cold edge biting into her forehead she either didn't care or was relying on it to remind her what feeling was. Her eyes were not focused on anything as she blinked again, bringing the car-park into sharper defined shapes before they slowly returned to a dim blur of the outside world. If any of the figures crossing the tarmac had looked up at the building, they might have seen her, though she wouldn't have seen them as her eyes glazed over again and the world once again merged into an indiscernible mist.

She didn't know if the touch on her shoulder was real or in her imagination. She might have been falling backwards as her body chose not to support her stoic position any longer. She realised however, that the two non-feelings were connected as she registered a softly spoken voice repeating her name. Without seeing, she turned in a daze and found herself drawn into a warm and tender embrace.

Strickland closed his eyes and dipped his chin to rest on the top of her head as she cried silent tears into his shoulder. He'd sent Gerry and Brian home, or rather he'd entrusted Gerry to seeing Brian home while Steve had offered to carry on with the initial leg-work of the case that he would likely be carrying the grief-stricken trio through. He knew there were no words that could be heard, no feeling to share, nothing to be done. The dignity of Jack's death touched him; to be capable of caring for his friends to the point of suffering alone showed a strength that Strickland had thought even beyond Jack Halford, and he could not begrudge the man proving him wrong this one last time. Even with a severely shaken Sandra Pullman in his arms, he knew that any other way would have been wrong, seeing Jack deteriorate every day would have made work harder for his friends, caring for him would have strained even their bonds. To allow them to remember him as he was, as he had been, was the way he'd wanted it, the way it had to be.

She felt the man take a deep ragged breath and tighten his hold on her; she realised that she hadn't even registered who he was. She forced her mind to inventory everything she could while her eyes were shut tight against the soft material of his jacket. He was taller than her, she could tell that by the reassuring pressure of his chin on her head; that ruled out Steve. It wasn't Brian; the jacket she had been crying into was a suit jacket. Brian only wore his suit for special occasions or when he was in court. He didn't smell of cigarettes, so it wasn't Gerry. For a slight moment, she was confused. She leant back slightly forcing him to release his hold which she instantly regretted as a coolness reminded her of reality but it was necessary so that she could look into his bare blue eyes, "Sir?" she asked in a cracked whisper.

Strickland met her open blue eyes with his own, he swallowed. He had no words, so he merely nodded. She replied with the same gesture and gently laid her head back against his shoulder.

When it was time, he'd suggest she go home. But for a few more minutes, he simply held her, letting her gather the strength that she needed for the journey.

~o~

Eyes opening slowly, she realised it was dark. She sat up slowly, looking around her living room. An unopened bottle of wine sat beside an empty wine glass on the glass coffee table. A forgotten bar of chocolate sat waiting for her. She wasn't hungry.

Deep down, she had known that there was something strange about the way he left. Suddenly, without warning, without trigger. She believed him when he said that he'd been thinking about it for years; she believed him when he said that it wasn't because of anything any of them had done; she didn't believe him when he told her everything was alright.

_Is everything alright Jack?_

_I'm just tired of it all Sandra, I'm seventy-seven for Christ's sake, by all rights I should already be in the ground!_

She smiled sadly as she remembered the touch of humour always in his voice when he said such things. A subtle amusement at the world around him. A world that had taken his wife, his reason. At least, she thought sombrely, they had managed to bring him some justice there. Nothing could bring Mary back, but knowing who was responsible for her death and bringing them to justice, brought peace and resolve to him. And the fact that it was Hanson, the crook Jack had spent so many years chasing, was like the sweet cream that finishes a decadent dessert. One that could never taste as good as it should because peace, resolve and justice couldn't undo the past.

Her mobile was ringing in her bag where she had thrown it in the chair. She got up and fished it out, reading the display. _Strickland._ For a second, she contemplated not answering it, but could almost hear her Jack's words: _and what good would that do?_ Sighing, she answered it flatly. "Hello?" There was a pause on the other end of the line before he spoke.

"_Tell me about him."_

And she did. Tears pricked at the back of her eyelids as she obeyed her boss' orders. She told him about how she'd first met Jack Halford. How he'd given her her first big break in the murder squad. Things he'd said, taught her, shown her. How he could make her feel like the best copper in the force; how he could make her feel like the worst; but always how he inspired her to do better, to be the best. She told him that when she'd seen Jack's name on the list of retired detectives that Don Bevan had given her when he'd first charged her with setting up UCOS, she'd known that she could make it work. She'd never had a doubt that Jack would say no to joining her team. But she could never say why she'd been so certain. The best question she'd ever been asked: _do you want to do the job properly, or just make it look nice?_ The sagest words she'd ever heard: _there are detectives that want to solve crimes; and those that just want to clear them up._ The harshest, truest criticism she had ever received: _if we solve this crime, not only are we bringing justice to that poor woman; we're bringing her peace. It's never a waste of time._ He was the man she trusted above all others, if she ever thought she trusted anyone. He was the man who'd betrayed her the worst. He was the person her life would not be the same without.

"…wouldn't have been. Isn't…" she broke off as her voice gave in to the silence of her heart and the gentle salt-water tears while Rob remained silent on the other end of the line. "I miss him," she whispered, as the lashes of her eyes dipped under the pressure and allowed the tears to drop slowly onto her cheeks and roll calmly down like condensation on a window watching the sunrise. She made no attempt to brush them away. The soft caress of the air as it cooled the evidence of her heart break gave her the strength to believe in the emotion that had taken her, grief.

She blinked slowly as she caught sight of her watch, "Christ, I'm so sorry, I've kept you on the phone for an hour! What did you want?"

"_I'm sorry?"_

"When you rang, what did you want?" she assumed it was something about taking time off, which she wasn't about to do. _Let's get on with the job_, were words that Gerry and Brian had offered her as often as Jack had done, and a sentiment she owed them all. There was hardly a beat before the answer she hadn't been expecting came.

"_I just wanted to let you talk."_

He looked at the clock on his office wall; she was right, it had been a whole hour since he had summoned the courage to ring her. His door had been knock on three times; his desk phone had flashed twice and the e-mail notification tone had chimed six times. The screensaver had been flying around the monitor on his desk for forty minutes and the coffee in his mug was cold.

"_Let me talk?" she sounded incredulous, but not angry. "Sir…Rob…I don't know what to…thank you."_

"I thought I knew how much Jack Halford meant to you," he said, his own voice not quite steady. "To Brian and Gerry too. And I know that today has come as a shock. For all of you. And I know that… I just wanted to let you talk," he concluded uselessly. He could hear the tears in her voice as she whispered,

"_Thank you."_


	18. Pendant

_Pendant_

She hesitated outside of his office door before knocking. They'd spent the morning preparing their case and she'd promised to update him, duty lifted her knuckles to the wood.

"Come in," he called from within.

She entered and watched him smile as he looked up and saw her. "Hi Sandra."

"Hi," she replied. "I, erm, I just wanted to let you know that we'll be talking to the dead man's wife tomorrow. The MP. We've got an appointment for eleven thirty, it's the only time she could fit us in apparently."

He nodded. "That's fine, I don't think there's any need to go crashing in with this. Make sure all the facts are right first."

She bit her lip and reciprocated his nod. "I … I also, just wanted to thank you again. For last night, ringing me. In fact, I want to thank you for the last few days."

"It's fine," he anticipated her next move before she'd even let the words form on her tongue.

"It's just," she began hesitantly, breaking off as she realised what she was about to say. Too late. The man who had accepted her into his life, his home, his heart and whom she had allowed equal access to her own emotional whim, looked up at her with clear, knowing eyes and finished the sentence for her.

"Perhaps," he placed each word carefully into the air between them, wanting to leave no ill-feeling, no regret on either side. "We should allow our relationship to return to what it was."

"Yes," she agreed, whilst internally cursing every move that Fate had made in the last three days.

"I understand," he assured her. Forcing himself to turn his gaze away from her and back to the diary open on his desk, he fought to keep the calm countenance that he needed to present to her.

"Do you?" she asked as a lover, then adding quickly as she had to for the sake of her own piece of mind. "Sir?"

Silently hating every ill-placed feeling in himself, he lifted his head again and smiled. "Yes."

"Right," she nodded.

"Sandra?"

"Yes?"

"I am sorry about Jack."

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"Oh, and DS Pullman?"

"Yes?"

"This case has the potential to get messy and uncomfortable. Be careful."

"Thank you, Sir," she dismissed herself from his office and smiled sadly as the door closed.

~o~

"Is the kettle on?" she asked as she got back to UCOS, her emotions barely in check. She found herself looking around the office, her eyes drawn at last to the empty desk straight ahead of her. "What's wrong?" she added realising that there had been no response to her question.

"These came," Gerry explained, pointing at the coffee table where three neatly wrapped parcels sat; one addressed to each of them. "They're postmarked 'France'."

She looked from them to each of her boys in turn; she nodded. Gerry stepped forward and picked up the first parcel as if it were made of bone china and passed it to her. He made a second precious delivery to Brian before taking the last and returning to his desk. She looked down at the familiar handwriting as she took a breath. She walked through to her office, placing the parcel on her desk while she hung up her coat and put her bag on top of her in-tray.

Each in their private silence opened the little parcels and received the identical handcrafted notebooks that Jack had seen at the local church fete. He'd already agreed with Mary that there were things he had to say to each of them; he'd never intended to; but then, he'd never intended for Brian to figure out what was going on. So he'd picked them each an additional gift and one quiet day, sitting in his armchair, looking out over the horizon, he'd tried to find the words that each of them now read.

~o~

Gerry ran his fingers over the smart silver lighter in his hand, his rough skin detecting easily the engraving of his name, as he started to read:

_Gerry,_

_ I know it's not much, but I thought you'd like it. I hope you can understand my reasons for leaving now. Don't be mad at Brian, I didn't want any of you to know, but he found out. You've both been such good friends to me over the years and I am grateful for that. I wish there could have been time, but time is a bugger for getting by you. I'm sorry._

_Keep looking after them both for me._

_Thanks,_

_Jack._

~o~

Brian opened and closed the leather-bound copy of Hugo's poetry, noting the marking beside the poem "A Sunset". His old fingers were shaking as he put the book, notebook and unexplained piece of jewellery to one side and unfolded the letter that had accompanied them.

_Brian,_

_ The broach is for Esther, it was one of Mary's favourites – I hope she likes it. Look after her, Brian, her and Mark. I know it's been hard for them over the years, as it has been for you. And I know that they are really proud of you now._

_ I hope you enjoy the book._

_ Thank you for keeping my secret, I know it can't have seemed fair of me to ask, but I know that you above the others would understand the reasons for me asking. So, thank you. And they will come round._

_Jack._

_Thank you._

~o~

Sandra stared at the necklace that had been wrapped carefully in tissue paper and parcelled with the letter and notebook. It was a locket that her father had given her when she was a child. The chain had broken, long before she had lost it. She'd been sure that her mother had thrown it away. But now it was in her hands again, with a new chain.

_Sandra,_

_ Don't be mad at Brian. I asked him not to tell you or Gerry because I knew that you'd be upset and I didn't want you to be. I realise that what you've just found out is just as upsetting and believe me the last thing I wanted to do was hurt anyone. I know though that you will understand, even if takes some time, that this had to be about Mary and me._

_ Maybe I should have told you, I don't know. I didn't want you to worry. We all make mistakes, some bigger than others, and no-one is blameless, ever. The most important thing to remember though is that mistakes can be forgiven. Thank you for choosing me to be part of Bevan's Unsolved Crime and Waste Of Time Initiative; the purpose that it has given me for these last nine years means more than can be expressed in words. I know that you would not begrudge choosing Brian or Gerry now that you have seen their worth and I hope that our time together has shown you a little of the good things that life can bring us. Don't let the job take everything from you. You know what I mean by this, so I shall say no more. _

_ I should have returned this to you a long time ago. Your father was a good man and he would be proud of you, as I am._

_Good-bye Sandra,_

_Jack._

_Don't leave it too late._

~o~

Sandra read the letter through twice before folding it neatly and replacing it in its envelope. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. The letter was stashed safely in the top drawer of her desk. She walked out into the main office. Brian and Gerry were at their desks, each studying their own letter.

"Where's…?"

"Popped out," Gerry said quietly, putting his letter down and standing up, moving around the desk to lean against it, studying her.

"Brian?" she nodded at Gerry and turned to the other man sitting with his lips firmly set.

The gruff northerner looked up. He took his glasses off and stood up. He placed the letter carefully on the desk as if it to move it too suddenly would detonate it and its words be lost. Moving slowly to mirror Gerry's position, he didn't allow his eyes to leave her face.

Sandra walked over to him and kissed him tenderly on the cheek. "I'm sorry," she met his eye unwavering.

He nodded.

She smiled. "He had this pendant, that my dad gave me. I guess he had it with him when … anyway. Jack had it put on a new chain."

Brian, not one for tactile displays, responded uncommonly by resting his hand on her shoulder. "Mary's favourite broach," he said steadily. "For Esther. And Hugo, in French."

They looked over to Gerry, who held up his new lighter and grinned. Receiving two beaming smiles in return he walked over to them both and placed a hand on Sandra's other shoulder. "Pub?" he suggested lightly.

The other two nodded. "What about Steve?" Sandra asked.

"I'll text him," Gerry said. "I'm sure he could set off early to get to Charlie for the weekend."

"What about Strickland?" Brian asked gently.

She shook her head. "He understands," she slipped away from them both. "I'll just get my coat."

~o~

They sat at their usual table, each lost in their own thoughts, every now and then, one of them would lift their head to speak, then think better of it and prolong the silence.

Brian suddenly sniffed loudly, breaking the silence. Sandra lifted her head and pausing for a moment, reached out a hand and placed it firmly on his forearm. Gerry looked between them, the words that Jack had wrote them were playing on each of their minds, he was sure. And perhaps it was time for him to act on the promise he'd made to those words.

"Hey," he said softly harnessing both their attentions and raising his glass. "To Jack."

They lifted their glasses and in the quiet peace of their local, the place they had gone with Jack on their last night as a team, when he had left with the simple word _goodbye_; they toasted the man they had known as a colleague and loved as a brother.

"To Jack."


	19. Epilogue

_Epilogue_

A week had passed following the receipt of Jack's last words and work had reluctantly returned to a routinely duty for the out-of-retirement detectives and their formerly high-flying commanding officer. The details of their current case are immaterial to the proceedings and so will be overlooked. Suffice to say that their long-cold case which involved a not-so-cold criminal that demanded, so they thought and devised, an overly-elaborate and potentially dangerous under-cover operation.

Robert Strickland held the papers that contained the proposed plan in his hand as he stormed through the corridors of the MET that separated his office from the UCOS underground quarters. Barely registering the genial greetings of Brian and Steve, both in their overcoats, having been sent out on enquiries, but fortunately both standing far enough back from the doors to not receive the backlash of the violent swing that had afflicted them by their furious superior's entrance; neglecting to respond to Gerry's acknowledgement of his entrance; he continued through until his destination had been reached.

She stood as he entered, surprised at his fury. "Good morning, Sir."

He stared her down.

"Is there a problem?" she asked.

"This undercover nonsense," he blurted out, trying not to notice that the blouse she was wearing was blue. "It's out of the question."

"Right," her temper flared. "Sir, we've thought through every possible way of getting to Kasper. This is the only way."

"I'm not at all happy about this, Sandra."

He was measuring his words, trying to maintain a calm, professional and rational attitude despite the woman in front of him. Sandra glared back at her boss, too fuming to hear the tone of his voice, the tone that there was something else behind his words.

"With all due respect, Sir, it is my decision."

She stared him down, mildly wondering if he was as bored with these battles of wits and tempers as she was. Eventually he would relent, she reasoned to herself, they'd reach some compromise. Or they'd do it anyway and make sure he didn't find out until it was too late for him to do anything about it.

"It's too dangerous," he said levelly, hoping against hope that she hadn't noticed the slight catch in his throat at his ineffectual protest.

"Dangerous?" she retorted, eyes blazing. "After recent events, Sir, this is going to be a walk in the park!"

"Exactly," he was struggling to explain himself now, struggling to maintain his composure as she reminded him just how close he had come to losing her. "I don't want anyone putting themselves in that sort of situation again. Especially you."

The muttered nature of the last two words made her doubt that she had even heard them; he certainly hadn't meant to say them out-loud. She started to walk out of the office, "I'm not losing this case, Sir."

"And I'm not losing you," he grimaced as she left to enter the main office. She heard him murmur something else to himself, assuming that it was probably about pig-headed, stubborn women under his command before he followed her out into the main UCOS office.

"Sandra," Strickland interrupted her with no idea what he was going to say as she span to stare him down again. "I am not going to allow this!"

"You have no business in how I run my team, Sir," she replied sweetly enough but there was an edge to her voice, a questioning edge perhaps, goading him to show how far he would assert his authority over her this time. "Gerry, you and I are…"

"No, you're not," he stated. Stepping toward her he could see she was shaking slightly, only ever so slightly. "Sandra, if they even suspect that you are not who you say you are, they will shoot you."

"So we make sure that they don't find us out," Gerry supplied in his unhelpful, happy-go-lucky way. "Look…"

"No," he had no interest in anything Gerry might have to say at that moment. He wasn't going to back down, not this time. He wasn't going to let her pursue the course of action that could take her away from him.

"Gerry," Sandra spoke quietly but authoritively. It was as though the sun had decided to do away with it's usual ritual of rising and spreading light over the world and instead had opted for opening its eye and illuminating the truth of existence in one bright spotlight.

"Guv, look, I know…" Gerry was prepared to stand between them if he had to, explain patiently that they had gone over every angle, were aware of the risks, would take appropriate precautions if necessary. Strickland would relent, he always did. He couldn't help but wonder if Sandra's urgency was to do with feeling like she had to do something, he knew he felt the slow pace of the past week too and was ready for action.

"Gerry, go for a fag," but she wasn't looking at him as she spoke. She was looking at Strickland, as though seeing him again for the first time in a new light. "Sir," she spoke with a determination.

"Sandra," he replied. "I am not going to allow this. Two weeks ago, I nearly lost you, I do not intend for that to happen again…" _I did lose you_, he added in his thoughts.

"Sir, I appreciate that in the Parsons enquiry, things …didn't go according to plan," she knew he was referring to Parsons pointing a gun at her and shooting the fuse box in the garage she had followed him too. But there were other events of that day that she needed to forget, and so did he. "This time it will be different. Gerry will be there. Brian and Steve have nearly got all the paper evidence together anyway, all we need now is a clear…"

"Sandra, you're not listening," he hoped the fear wasn't coming through. "Two weeks ago…"

"Was a badly planned…"

"I'll say!"

"A badly planned and unfortunate event,"

"Where you were in very real danger and could easily have been killed!" he was shouting now, unable to continue pretending that he hadn't spent the rest of that day by her side, giving her the support she had needed to re-emerge as the Sandra Pullman he knew and loved.

"I was doing my job," she defended quietly, desperately willing the memory of how safe he had made her feel following the incident, to remain a memory, one best forgotten.

"And now I'm doing mine," he forced myself to speak more quietly. "I cannot allow you or any of my officers to put themselves in that sort of danger!"

"Fine, what if Steve and Gerry…"

"Or Steve, or Gerry, or Brian," he protested.

"Sir, if there was any other way!"

"Find another way!" he was shouting again, control losing out to an inarticulate passion that he could not contain.

"Sir."

Silence fell. She had conceded. For now. He had the distinctive feeling she was plotting exactly how to circumvent everything that he had said and do it anyway without his finding out. So to distract her, he decided to explain himself again, having no idea what part of his brain thought that this was a good idea.

"Sandra, you do understand?"

"Of course, Sir."

"I don't …" telling her that she didn't understand was not going to be any help at all. So he changed tact. "Last week, I was scared. Scared that something really bad had happened to you that I couldn't do anything about. That night… You think that its just the boys who worry about you, well you're wrong. I thought I was going to lose you and I was scared."

She had no idea what to say.

"I know we don't always see eye to eye and hell, you probably can't stand the sight of me…"

"That's not true," she interjected quickly, unable to bear that he thought she had just been using him.

"But," he pressed on in his kamikaze mission. "I really like you, Sandra. I mean, I really like you."

She was suddenly aware that the door had opened.

"Gerry, fag!" she said sharply.

"I forgot…" he barely had chance to glance between them before she cut him off.

"Out!"

She waited until she had heard the door close behind him before attempting to put some of her own feeling into words.

"Sir, I don't know…"

Then he did the most surprising and potentially stupidest thing he could ever have done. He closed the last few steps distance between them and kissed her.

Then she did the most surprising thing she could have ever done. She kissed him back.

As Gerry borrowed a light from a uniformed PC, he glanced back down the corridor he had come. He was sure he hadn't seen that one coming. Grinning, he looked up beyond the clouds.

"She'll be alright, mate," he whispered. "We all will."

.

.

.

_For those who believe in the charms of angels and the gifts of Fate._


End file.
